Even dogs in the wild (23 page)

himself – out of the top drawer, you could tell.’

‘Far from your usual client? So what did you think when he

was found dead?’

‘I thought he obviously had reason to buy that gun.’

‘Am I allowed to ask where you got it?’

‘No.’

‘What if I insist?’

‘Do what the hell you like.’

Rebus allowed the silence to settle. He took another sip from

the stale pint, knowing he wasn’t going to touch it again after

that if his life depended on it.

‘Okay then,’ he said eventually. ‘One last thing: similar

sales in the recent past.’

‘It’s been months.’

‘How many months?’

‘Seven or eight. Even then, it was a loaner.’

‘So you got it back?’

Roddy nodded again. ‘If it’s been used, I don’t want to

know. But if they want to sell it back pristine, I give them a

price.’

‘Did Minton know that?’

A shake of the head. ‘His was for keeps, right from the get-

go. Are we finished here?’

‘Is it worth my while trawling the records to find who you

really are?’

The man tipped the dregs of his drink down his throat. ‘As

hobbies go, it would keep you busy – a bit like metal-detecting,

but with nothing much to show for the effort.’

‘Not even a few old coins?’

‘Not even a rusty bottle-top, Mr Rebus.’

Cafferty had ventured to the Sainsbury’s on Middle Meadow

Walk, queuing behind too many students buying garlic bread

and pasta salads. Back in his flat, he had eaten his own supper

of cooked chicken slices, followed by a bag of green grapes,

washed down with half a bottle of screw-top Valpolicella. He

was beginning to wonder about the efficacy of hiding away like

this. A decade or two back, he would have been scouring the

streets, primed to face any situation that warranted his

participation. Had the bullet spooked him? It had, though he

was loath to admit the fact. Why was he still breathing? A

fluke? A nasty recoil? A beginner’s finger on the trigger? Or

because the whole thing had been meant as warning only? Two

inches from death, he reckoned he’d been. The zing of the

projectile as it passed his head. The thud of impact and the

sudden chalky cloud of plaster. And there he stood, numb and

unprepared. The gunman could have taken aim and fired again,

no problem. But he had run. Why? The obvious answer: it
had

been a warning. Or the shooter was toying with him, relishing

this extended period of fear mixed with uncertainty. And what a

time to pick, with Christie on edge and the Starks running

amok. Perfect conditions for Cafferty to make his move and

reclaim his territory.

Instead of which, he cowered here, laptop open, screen

awaiting his next search.

Rebus had been calling, but Cafferty hadn’t answered.

Rebus would know by now – know he was no longer at home.

Would the investigators be trying to pin him for the murder of

Dennis Stark? Unlikely – there had been another note, hadn’t

there? Then again, they might see the attack on Cafferty himself

as part of the plan, the perpetrator trying to disguise himself as

potential victim. No, Rebus would never be that stupid. But that

didn’t mean others wouldn’t be taken in. Anything could be

happening out there, and he had no means of knowing.

He had brought his passport with him from the house, and it

struck him that he could simply jet off somewhere and leave the

whole bloody circus behind. He’d been to Barbados, Grand

Cayman, Dubai. He had old friends in all three. Warmer climes,

where dirty money became clean money. Cafferty had plenty in

various accounts. He could live out the remainder of his life

very nicely. Then he remembered something Rebus had let slip

– a lottery winner in . . . where? Linlithgow? Why had he

mentioned that? He scratched at his forehead, then started a

new search. His tongue felt furred from too much red wine, and

he knew he’d better drink some water before he went to sleep.

Lottery winner. Linlithgow. Murder.

He clicked on the first result and started reading the news

story. Michael Tolland . . . fortune, followed by double tragedy

. . . wife dies, and then he’s attacked by an intruder . . .

‘Poor bugger,’ Cafferty said. He stared at the photo of

Tolland grinning next to his wife, the outsized cheque held in

front of them, champagne at the ready.

‘Michael Tolland,’ he muttered, closing the page and

clicking on the next link. Halfway down the screen, two words

leapt out at him:

Acorn House.

Acorn House.

His lips formed the words silently and with slow

deliberation, his eyes reduced to little more than slits. ‘Is that

what this is about? Holy Christ . . .’

There was still his passport, and the thought of escape. But

now he had an inkling – an inkling, and the sudden need to

know more.

Rebus was five minutes early getting to the Oxford Bar, but

Clarke and Fox were already there. The tables were all taken, so

they’d commandeered a space next to the toilets, where no one

could listen in.

‘You okay standing?’ Fox asked.

‘I still had the use of my legs last time I looked,’ Rebus

muttered. ‘Pair of you on softies tonight?’

They both nodded, so he fetched the drinks: lime and soda,

sparkling water, IPA, plus a couple of packets of crisps and

some salted nuts.

‘Cheers,’ he said, opening one of the packs and laying it on

the high circular table.

‘We’ve already eaten,’ Fox said.

‘Nice, was it?’

‘That tapas place on George Street.’

‘Bit more salubrious than where I’ve just been.’

‘How did it go?’ Clarke enquired.

Rebus told them. He gave as good a description as he could

of ‘Roddy’, but neither of them seemed able to place him.

‘You think he’s telling the truth about only selling the one

gun?’

Rebus shrugged and dropped more crisps into his mouth.

‘Plenty other dealers out there – doesn’t have to have been

local.’

‘On the other hand . . .’

Rebus nodded. ‘At least we’d know we
were
dealing with

two different guns. Is Page going to go public with the copycat

note?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Clarke admitted. ‘It would put the public’s

mind at rest that we’re not dealing with some crazed

psychopath.’

‘We are, though,’ Fox corrected her. ‘Even leaving Dennis

Stark out of the equation.’

‘Only other victim is Minton.’

‘As far as we know.’

‘Here’s what I think,’ Rebus interrupted. ‘If it comes out that

Dennis was killed by another hand, the dad is going to go even

more
berserk. Far as he’s concerned, his son was targeted by

the same person who went for Minton and Cafferty.’

‘Except we’re keeping Cafferty’s note quiet,’ Clarke

interrupted.

‘Thing is, right now the killer is some anonymous stranger

and Joe has no idea how the victims connect. If we suddenly

say, oh, Dennis was topped by someone who only wanted it to

look
like the same killer . . .’

‘He’ll draw up a list of likely suspects,’ Clarke agreed.

‘And have them dealt with,’ Fox added quietly, taking a sip

from his glass.

‘Starting with Christie and Cafferty,’ Rebus said. ‘And that’s

when this whole thing goes nuclear.’

‘I need to make sure Page understands this,’ Clarke said.

‘How did he react,’ Fox asked, ‘when you told him about the

surveillance?’

‘He was furious that no one had told him earlier.’

‘Detective Chief Super must have been in the loop.’

Clarke nodded. ‘But
he’d
been told it was to be kept under

wraps.’

‘By our imperial overlord?’

‘The very same.’

‘So you’ll talk to Page?’ Rebus asked.

‘I’m doing it right now.’ Clarke brandished her phone and

headed for the door.

‘And tell him about the gun,’ Rebus called to her retreating

figure, after which he sank another inch of his drink and

scooped up a few nuts.

‘So how are you, Malcolm?’ he asked, chewing.

‘Me?’ Fox sounded taken aback by the question.

‘Recovering from that hiding you took?’

‘It only hurts when I laugh.’

‘Can’t recall seeing you laugh.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And things are going well with Siobhan? I’m only asking

because I care.’

‘We don’t always see as much of each other as we’d like.’

Fox paused. ‘Well, as much as
I’d
like anyway.’

‘She’s in love with the job, same as I was. How about you?’

‘The job has its moments,’ Fox was forced to concede.

‘Moments aren’t enough, though – everything about it

should give you a buzz.’

‘Is that how it was for you?’

Rebus considered this. ‘The deeper into it you go, the more

you find out – about yourself as well as everything else.’

‘The miles you’ve got on the clock, you should be on

Mastermind
.’

‘Pass,’ Rebus said, checking his watch.

‘Somewhere you need to be?’

‘I’m just knackered. I’m not a young thing like you. And

I’m not cut out for wallflower duties.’

‘It’s not like we’re going to suddenly start snogging.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Clarke said, standing behind Fox. She was

stuffing her phone back into her shoulder bag.

‘How happy was DCI Page to have his supper interrupted?’

Rebus asked.

‘Poor sod’s still in the office. He agrees about the

moratorium.’

‘Is that what it is? A moratorium?’

‘It’s as good a word as any,’ Clarke said. ‘You had any joy

from Facebook and Twitter?’

‘About the dog?’ Rebus shook his head. ‘Vet says space is at

a premium in the surgery – he’s all for handing Fido over to the

cat and dog home tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘Unless some kind

and sympathetic person steps into the breach.’

‘I hate to say it,’ Clarke commented, ‘but you’re barking up

the wrong tree.’

‘Aye,’ Rebus conceded, ‘and by no means for the first time

in my life.’

Fox drove Clarke back to her flat, just off Broughton Street.

She invited him up and they sat together on her sofa, drinking

tea and listening to jazz. Eventually she rested her head against

his shoulder. When the rhythm of her breathing changed, he

realised she was asleep.

‘Time you were in bed,’ he said.

‘Sorry,’ she replied, opening her eyes and smiling. ‘Do you

mind?’

He kissed her on the lips, received a perfumed hug, and went

back downstairs to his car. He took the road south through the

city towards Cameron Toll, then turned right, skirting the

Grange. Countless sets of traffic lights, all seemingly in cahoots

– red followed by red followed by red. Greenbank Crescent at

last, and then Oxgangs Avenue. There was a light on in his

bungalow – the one in the hallway, set to a timer. Siobhan had

laughed at him about it once –
You think a housebreaker’s

going to be fooled by that?

But I’ve never been broken into, he said to himself. QED.

He parked on the short, steep driveway and got out, locking

the car after him. He was most of the way to his door when he

heard another door open and close – a car door. He turned and

saw that it was Beth Hastie. She had a face like thunder. He’d

seen the car parked kerbside but had thought nothing of it –

someone visiting one of his neighbours. She must have laid

herself flat across the front seats. Now she was shoving open

his gate and striding towards him.

‘Fuck is your problem?’ she snarled.

‘I didn’t know I had one.’

‘That’s because you’re a dickhead. Going behind my back,

pouring your pish into Alec’s ear.’

He realised he was studying her almost for the first time.

Five-six, neither skinny nor visibly overweight. Looked like

there was some muscle there – gym or maybe even a boxing

club.

‘Do you want to come in?’ he asked into the silence.

‘I wouldn’t cross your threshold if you paid me.’

‘Probably a no, then.’

She reached out and grabbed a fistful of his coat. ‘I’m just

about ready to do some
real
damage to that ugly puffed-up face

of yours.’

The hand Fox placed over hers wasn’t quite twice the size.

He began to squeeze. She tried not to let pain show in her eyes,

but eventually let go, at which point Fox did the same.

‘You didn’t take any comfort break at a local petrol station,’

he intoned. ‘Took me about five minutes to establish that. I

went to Alec Bell with it because that was one way of keeping

it from your boss. If you’ve got a different story you want to tell

me, I’ll happily listen.’

‘I don’t need to tell you a single solitary thing.’

‘That’s true.’

‘So now you’ll go crying to teacher, grass me up to Ricky?’

‘Will I?’

‘How else are you going to get a hard-on?’

‘Whatever happened last night, Compston is going to work it

out eventually – he won’t need help from me or anyone else.

He’ll start to think about the coincidence: you leaving your post

just before Dennis took his walk.’ Fox paused. ‘That
is
what