Even dogs in the wild (24 page)

happened? Or did you sleep through it?’ He shook his head.

‘No, because why lie? Being asleep is about as much of a lapse

as taking a break. Want to tell me the truth, Beth?’

‘You’re screwing with a
team
, Fox. It’s always going to be

you against us – remember that.’

As if on cue, Fox heard another door open. Alec Bell must

have been in the Audi with her. He too pushed open the gate,

though without his colleague’s pent-up sense of grievance. He

was even smiling, sliding his hands into the pockets of his coat.

‘I couldn’t not tell her,’ he announced with a shrug, eyes on

Fox.

‘And now the two of you are here to warn me to mind my

own business?’

‘We clear up our own mess, no outside help required.’

Another shrug.

Fox turned his attention back to Beth Hastie. ‘I still need to

know where you went, and why.’

But Alec Bell shook his head and placed a hand on Hastie’s

shoulder. ‘We should be getting back, Beth.’

Her eyes remained fixed on Fox’s. Bell’s hand grew more

insistent.

‘Beth,’ he said.

The spell seemed broken. She blinked and half turned

towards him.

‘Sure,’ she said.

Then she twisted back towards Fox and flung her knee up

into his unprotected groin. He doubled over, swallowing back a

sudden urge to vomit. Pain flooded through him.

‘You don’t touch me,’ Beth Hastie said, spitting on the

ground in front of him. ‘Nobody touches me.’

Alec just did
, Fox would have countered, had he been able to

speak. Instead of which, eyes blurred by tears, he watched Bell

lead her back to the car. Then, slowly, painfully, and still

stooped, he turned towards his own door and tried to find the

lock with the key.

Over the wall.

Into a courtyard of some kind. Empty aluminium kegs. A

barrel turned into a makeshift table. A single rickety bar stool.

Two cheap overflowing ashtrays. Blocks of flats nearby. A dog

barking. A starless sky.

The door was wooden and looked solid enough. He got to

work on it with the crowbar. Locks top and bottom. Took a bit

of effort. The alarm started blaring as he stepped into the

narrow, low-ceilinged room. He held the first bottle in one

hand, lighter in the other. Got the rag lit and tossed it high into

the air. Glass shattering, the petrol spreading instantly across

the linoleum floor. Second bottle for luck, aiming for the row of

optics behind the bar this time. And then he was out of there,

back over the wall to where his car was waiting. Two minutes

since the alarm had started, neighbours probably still thinking it

a mistake or malfunction, waiting for it to stop. He cruised past

the front of the building, seemingly in no particular hurry as the

windows of the Gimlet began to glow orange and then fiery red.

DAY SIX

Twenty One

‘It’s not every day someone offers to buy me breakfast,’ Doug

Maxtone said, sliding into the booth. Fox was stirring a latte in

a tall glass. ‘What happened to your face?’

‘I tried breaking up a fight. They ended up swinging at me

instead.’

‘Did you report it?’

Fox shook his head and lifted the glass. Maxtone ordered a

bacon roll and ‘some good strong tea’, then clasped his hands

on the table in front of him.

‘What’s on your mind, Malcolm?’

The café was on Newington Road. It had been a bank or

something. Fox had parked down a side street, across from a

garage filled with hearses. He stared out through the window as

he spoke.

‘I can’t do it any more, sir. Compston and his crew, I mean.’

‘Has there been a falling-out?’

‘They didn’t do this, if that’s what you mean.’ Fox pointed

towards his fading bruises. ‘But there has been an incident – not

with Compston himself, but a couple of his officers.’

‘Does he know?’ Fox shook his head. ‘Want me to speak

to him?’

‘That’s the last thing I want, sir. Besides which, they’ll be on

their way soon surely? With the son dead, some haulier and his

ill-gotten gains will drop off Joe Stark’s radar.’

‘You might well be right. I’ve got a meeting with Ricky

Compston this morning, as it happens. I’ll be sure to put it to

him.’

‘You won’t say anything about me, though?’

‘Soul of discretion,’ Maxtone assured him. Then, as his tea

arrived: ‘Did you hear about the pub getting torched?’

‘No.’

‘Some dive called the Gimlet, out Calder Road way.

Insurance job, I suppose.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure.’ Maxtone looked up at him. ‘It was

owned until recently by Darryl Christie. He sold it on to a

friend.’

‘Well, somebody doused it in petrol last night and left not

much more than a shell.’

‘Sounds like a message to me.’

‘From Joe Stark?’

‘The man’s spoiling for a fight.’

‘They need to be told they’re not welcome here. If you’re

right, and they’ve lost interest in the missing trucker, we can

kick them back to Glasgow without upsetting the Chief

Constable too much.’

Fox nodded, but without real enthusiasm. ‘Joe Stark’s

grieving, though. That gives him good reason to hang around

the investigation. If we chase him out of town, we’re going to

get called callous.’

‘By our friends in the media? I think our skins are thick

enough, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

The bacon roll was arriving. ‘Looks good,’ Maxtone said,

taking a bite. ‘You not eating, Malcolm?’

‘Coffee does me most mornings.’

‘So if you’re not babysitting Compston’s team, what am I

going to do with you?’

‘The Minton investigation could probably use another body.’

‘Not the best turn of phrase,’ Maxtone chided him. ‘But

you’re right, it does seem to be growing into a monster. Want

me to have a word with James Page?’

‘I’d appreciate it.’

‘Leave it with me.’

‘And all for the price of a bacon roll,’ Fox commented.

‘We can always be bought, Malcolm,’ Maxtone said with a

wink. ‘Some of us more cheaply than others . . .’

Fox sat in his car. A hearse was being valeted to within an inch

of its life, two more having already left the premises at the start

of another busy day. He pressed his phone to his ear and waited

for an answer.

‘John Rebus, Consulting Detective,’ Rebus’s voice sang out.

‘What can I do for you this fine morning, Malcolm?’

‘You at the Big House?’

‘I’m in the flat, though I suppose technically that means I’m

also in the office.’

‘Any clients?’

‘I’m a bit particular.’

‘Mind if I drop by?’

‘For a consultation? I don’t come cheap, you know.’

‘Need anything from the shops? Milk? Bread?’

‘You silver-tongued devil – all right then, bring me some

milk and we’ll call it quits.’

‘There was a time,’ Fox said as they took their drinks through

to the living room, ‘when you wouldn’t have let me past the

front door.’

‘Wasn’t too long ago either,’ Rebus agreed, settling in his

chair. Fox made for the sofa, but then took a detour to the hi-fi

instead, crouching down to flick through the albums.

‘Getting pretty collectable, some of this stuff,’ he

commented. ‘Or it would be if it was in better condition.’

‘You suddenly an expert?’

‘I’ve been known to browse eBay of an evening.’ He got

back to his feet and headed to the sofa, placing the mug on the

carpet.

‘Coffee not up to your usual high standards?’ Rebus

enquired.

‘To be honest, I’m jangling enough as it is.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘Remember I told you about Beth Hastie? Not being at her

post when Dennis Stark left the guest house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well I happened to mention to your old pal Alec Bell that

her story rang false. Guess what he did next.’

‘I’d imagine he told her.’ Rebus lit a cigarette and leaned

back in his chair, blowing smoke towards the discoloured

ceiling. He had a sudden thought. ‘If this is my office, am I

even allowed to smoke? Government legislation and all that?’

‘So then Hastie paid me a visit,’ Fox ploughed on. ‘She was

in a right strop, too. Ended up kneeing me in the balls.’

Rebus winced in sympathy.

‘Alec Bell practically had to drag her off me.’

‘Not having much luck, are you?’

‘No,’ Fox was forced to agree. Then, after a pause: ‘Can I

try you with a wild theory?’

‘You think Compston’s team assassinated Dennis Stark?’

‘Is it beyond the realms of possibility?’

‘I’ve seen plenty in my time that would have seemed more

outlandish.’

‘So what do I do about it?’

‘Find some cast-iron evidence. Failing which, get one of

them to talk. Think you’re up to accomplishing either of those?’

Fox bristled. ‘You saying I’m not?’

‘I’m saying you’re all riled up. First Alec Bell watches you

take a pasting and doesn’t wade in to help, then Beth Hastie

gets torn in about your gonads. You said it yourself – you’re

jangling. That’s fine, means your juices are flowing. But you’re

supposed to be the rational one, the one who’s always Mr Calm.

Going into something because you’re emotional . . . well, it’s

hardly playing to your strengths.’

‘Are you saying I should drop it?’

‘I’m saying take a step back. All you know right now is that

Hastie lied to her boss, and that could be something or nothing.

She could have been off shagging Alec Bell or gone back to her

scratcher for a kip.’

‘Funny she’s not around when Dennis gets whacked,

though.’

‘I don’t disagree. But what you’re saying is – she
was

around, and maybe she even did it.’ Rebus paused. ‘Is that

right? Is that the way you’re thinking? You’re saying she didn’t

lie to Compston, she only lied to
you
in front of him because the team had to have a story to feed you.’

‘Maybe.’ Fox lifted the mug for want of anything else to do.

‘Alec Bell and me, we’re not mates,’ Rebus said. ‘I knew

him for a short time too many years back. He’s not going to

confide in me.’

‘He did, though – he told you there was a mole.’

‘He was showing off, wanting you and me both to see how

important he’s become. He’s not likely to do that again, not

when there’s a murder case at the back of it.’

‘I suppose not.’ Fox took a sip of coffee, trying to hide his

disappointment.

‘I’m not saying you shouldn’t follow this up, Malcolm.

Sometimes your first instinct is the right one. But you need to

be careful. Ricky Compston has a mean streak – trust me, it

takes one to know one. And he’s surrounded himself with

people who share at least some of his traits. I said you’d need

cast-iron evidence, but let me put it another way: make sure it’s

bulletproof.’

Fox nodded slowly. ‘Well, thanks for seeing me. And for the

coffee.’

‘The coffee you’ve barely touched.’

Fox got to his feet. ‘Do you need a lift to Fettes?’

‘Is that where you’re headed?’

‘Doug Maxtone’s going to get me attached to Siobhan’s

team.’

‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ll go in later.’

Fox made to leave, but paused before reaching the hall. ‘You

heard about the Gimlet?’

‘What about it?’

‘Someone torched it last night.’

‘Anybody hurt?’

‘I think it was after hours. A message from Joe Stark to

Darryl Christie, maybe?’

‘In which case his hotel might be next.’

‘We always knew it would get messy. Maxtone reckons it’s

high time we ordered Stark and his thugs back to Glasgow.’

‘He’s got a point. Say hello to Siobhan for me – and bear in

mind what I said.’ Rebus was holding out a hand towards Fox.

The two men shook. Having seen him out, Rebus went into the

kitchen. His phone was charging on the worktop. He’d set it to

silent. Two missed calls, both from Cafferty. He tapped call

back and Cafferty answered almost immediately.

‘Is this about the Gimlet?’ Rebus asked.

‘The Gimlet?’

‘It got torched last night.’

‘Nothing to do with that.’

‘What then?’

‘I need a favour. Can you meet me? Twenty minutes?’

‘Where?’

‘The G and V hotel.’

‘Used to be the Missoni? Twenty minutes it is. Want to give

me a clue what this is about?’

But Cafferty had already rung off.

As Rebus walked into the hotel, Cafferty waved to catch his

attention. He was seated in the bar area, nursing a tall glass of

tomato juice.

‘This where you’re holing up?’ Rebus asked, sliding on to

the banquette. Cafferty just tapped the side of his nose. ‘Credit

me with at least half a brain,’ Rebus went on. ‘The very fact

that we’re meeting here rules it out as your cave.’

‘You know I’m not in the house, though?’

‘Happened to be passing. Tried phoning you a couple of

times too. Have you been on to Joe Stark to offer condolences?’

‘He’d tell me where to stuff them.’

‘What about Darryl Christie – spoken to him at all?’

Cafferty made show of checking his surroundings. ‘Am I in

an interview room here?’