Even dogs in the wild (38 page)

been talking freely.’

‘I’ve told you it was nothing to do with us, though.’

Fox nodded. ‘You know why they were in town in the first

place?’

‘Looking for someone.’

‘Do you know who?’

‘Some guy with a haulage business.’

‘His name’s Hamish Wright. Same surname as you.’

Wright licked his lips, looking again to left and right, as

though seeking an escape route. Fox took a step towards him.

‘Do you drink at the Gifford Inn, Anthony?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Three weeks back, Hamish Wright called that pub. He

spoke to you.’

‘Not true.’

‘Staff say differently.’ Fox took out his phone and got the

shot of the haulier’s phone bill onscreen. ‘Plus there are calls

here from Hamish Wright to his nephew. What would happen if

I phoned that particular number?’

‘Search me.’

Fox tapped the number in and waited. The phone in

Wright’s pocket had been set to silent, but both men could hear

it as it vibrated.

‘Want to answer that?’ Fox said.

‘What the hell is it you want?’

Fox ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket.

‘You’re Hamish Wright’s nephew,’ he stated. ‘Close to your

uncle, are you?’

‘What of it?’

‘Why did he call you on the pub landline?’

‘Can’t always get a signal in there.’

Fox nodded. ‘Must have been important, though. This

wasn’t long before he went missing.’

‘He’s not missing – he’s away on business.’

‘That’s the story your aunt gave, but we both know she’s

lying.’ Fox paused. ‘I’m assuming all this would come as news

to the Stark gang. But does your employer know?’

Wright shook his head.

‘Sure about that?’

‘Positive.’

‘You know it’s not just your uncle they were looking for?

He has something they think belongs to them.’

‘Oh?’

‘Are we back to playing games, Anthony? Do you know

where Hamish is? Is he somewhere in the city?’

‘Haven’t a clue.’

‘Because he’s high on our list of suspects, as you can

imagine.’

‘My uncle couldn’t kill anyone.’

‘He worked for the Starks, peddled drugs and who knows

what else around the country for them – he’s not exactly

Mother Teresa.’

‘I don’t know anything about that.’

‘So you wouldn’t object to me looking at your client

records?’

‘Soon as you get a warrant.’

‘Mind you, nobody says it has to go through the books, eh?’

‘Come back with a warrant and you can look all you like.’ It

was Wright’s turn to fold his arms. He looked almost smug,

which told Fox he was on the wrong trail.

‘What was it he needed to talk to you about, Anthony? Did

he tell you he was about to make a run for it?’

‘Nothing like that – just family stuff.’

Fox was growing exasperated, his stock of ammo running

low. ‘Be a shame if Joe Stark
did
find out who you really

are . . .’ He turned and opened his car door.

‘You wouldn’t do that.’

‘Then tell me the truth, Anthony.’ Fox looked back over his

shoulder and watched as Wright’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

‘He’ll come out of hiding once this has blown over.’

‘Have you talked to him? You know where he is?’

Wright shook his head. ‘But that was always the plan, once

he knew they were on to him. Less his family knew, the better.’

‘You know it’s not going to blow over, right? Not until Joe

Stark knows who killed his son. Your uncle is going to be

living in fear until the whole gang’s put away.’

Wright nodded his understanding.

Fox made to get into the car, but then paused. ‘Your dad is

Hamish’s brother? Have you talked it over with him?’

‘He passed away last year. Maybe you saw it in the paper –

Dad loved his motorbikes, so we got a dozen bikers as a

cortège.’

Fox gestured towards a gleaming bike parked near the

loading bay. ‘Yours?’ he guessed.

‘And my dad’s before me – he left me five in his will.’

‘Lucky you,’ Fox said quietly, wondering suddenly about his

own father’s will – did one even exist?

Beth Hastie watched him from her unmarked car. She had slid

down low in her seat, but she doubted he would have noticed

her if she’d been standing naked on the roof. Malcolm Fox was

a man with things on his mind. She knew who he’d been talking

to, too – the same man who had been present when Chick

Carpenter had taken a beating. Why the sudden interest? After

Fox had gone, the guy had approached a parked motorbike,

taking out a handkerchief to polish its chrome. Hastie lifted her

phone and called CC Self Storage. A woman’s voice answered.

‘Hello,’ Hastie said. ‘This is going to sound really daft, but I

answered an ad from a guy selling a spare crash helmet and I’ve

gone and lost his details. All I remember is he said he worked

for you. Could that be right?’

‘Must be Anthony – he’s bike-daft.’

‘Anthony, yes. And his surname’s . . .?’

‘Wright. Anthony Wright. If you hold on, I can probably

fetch him—’

But Hastie had already ended the call. She narrowed her

eyes and ran her bottom lip between her teeth. Then she made

another call.

‘Yes?’ the voice on the other end said.

‘Can you talk?’

‘Make it quick.’

‘I’m at the self-storage place.’

‘And?’

‘I still think it needs to be done in daylight. But here’s the

thing – the employee who was there that day with Carpenter?’

‘Yes?’

‘His name’s Anthony Wright.’

‘Okay.’

‘Any connection?’

‘Could you check?’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Make it quick.’

The phone went dead. She stared at it, then pressed her lips

to the screen before putting it away and starting the engine.

Thirty Four

Rebus had known ever since setting out from Edinburgh that he

was going to continue north from Ullapool. His daughter

Samantha lived in a house on the jagged north coast, on the

Kyle of Tongue. He had phoned ahead and checked she would

be home, though he’d been necessarily vague about his arrival

time. The road from Ullapool was spectacular, though the sky

started to darken long before he neared his destination. As he

stopped his car outside the bungalow, she appeared in the

doorway. Her daughter Carrie was almost two now. Rebus had

only met her twice – once in the hospital in Inverness the day

after her birth, and once in Edinburgh. She shied away from

him as he tried to kiss her, and he realised he hadn’t thought to

bring a gift. He embraced Samantha and she led him inside to

the cosy living room with its toy-strewn floor and three-piece

suite.

‘Is Keith not here?’ Rebus asked.

‘He’s got some overtime.’

‘That’s good.’ Her partner had a job as part of the team

decommissioning the Dounreay nuclear reactor. ‘And has he

started glowing in the dark yet?’

‘You asked me that last time – and the time before.’

He had taken the proffered seat while his daughter stayed

standing. Carrie meantime was back amongst her toys, the adult

world none of her concern. Samantha had streaks of silver in

her hair, and she had lost weight.

‘You look good,’ he said dutifully.

‘You too,’ she felt obliged to respond. ‘I’ll just put the kettle

on.’

So Rebus sat there, eyes on the child, not sure what to say or

do. He was thinking of Malcolm Fox and his father, and of his

own parents. There were framed photos on one wall, including

one of him cradling the sleeping newborn. He felt a slight ache

in his chest, which he was rubbing away with a thumb when

Samantha returned.

‘So you’ve been to Ullapool,’ she said, waiting in the

doorway while the kettle boiled. ‘Thought you were retired.’

‘Police Scotland have discovered the hard way that they

can’t live without me.’

‘And vice versa, I dare say. How was the drive up?’

‘Fine.’

‘But you need to get back?’

He gave a shrug. ‘I’m here now, though. I really wanted to

see you.’

She nodded slowly and headed to the kitchen once more,

this time returning with a tray. Tea in two floral mugs, a beaker

of juice for Carrie, and a plate of digestive biscuits, one of them

lightly buttered. This she handed to Carrie, who began to

devour it.

‘I think we used to have the same when you were young,’

Rebus said. ‘Digestives or Rich Tea, but with a smear of

Lurpak as a treat.’

She handed him his tea and sat down on the chair opposite.

‘Everything okay with you?’ she asked, unable to mask the

concern on her face.

‘I’m fine.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m not here to deliver bad news.’

‘I was a bit worried that maybe . . .’

‘Nothing’s wrong, cross my heart.’

‘You’re still drinking and smoking, though.’

‘Only medicinally.’

She managed a smile and turned her attention to her

daughter. ‘Go and sit beside Grandad, Carrie – let him see how

you’ve grown.’

The little girl made a show of reluctance, then crawled over

to Rebus’s feet and scrambled up his legs until she was in his

lap.

‘Don’t squash me,’ he teased, while Samantha took a photo

on her phone.

Carrie, having rewarded Rebus with a chuckle, then became

engrossed in the two toys she was clutching.

And stayed there, quite happily, while father and daughter

caught up.

He decided to drive back by way of Inverness. Having been out

of range for a while, his phone finally pinged to let him know

he had missed a couple of calls, from Siobhan Clarke and

Malcolm Fox. Stopping for petrol and coffee at the same retail

park on the outskirts of Inverness, he took out his phone.

‘Hey, you,’ he told Clarke. ‘What’s up?’

‘Malcolm and I were thinking of grabbing a curry –

wondered if you wanted to join us.’

‘I won’t be back until late.’

‘We might still be there. We were thinking of the place you

like.’

‘Newington Spice? Well I’ll try to make it, but I’m not

promising.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Inverness.’

‘How was Ullapool?’

‘I have stuff to tell you. Best said in person, though, after

I’ve checked a couple of things.’

‘I’ve been thinking about Tolland’s wife – I’m pretty sure

she knew. I feel sorry for her.’

‘I thought she was dead.’

‘That doesn’t seem to be stopping me.’

‘Each to their own. Any idea why Malcolm wanted to speak

to me?’

‘I haven’t seen him today. He was going to take a shift at his

dad’s bedside.’

‘Any change?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Okay, I’ll maybe give him a call.’

‘I’m guessing we’ll be gone from the restaurant by eleven.’

‘Tell them to keep me a doggy bag.’

‘I will.’

He called Fox’s number and waited.

‘Hiya, John,’ Fox said.

‘How’s your old man?’

‘Stable.’

‘You there with him now?’

‘I’m actually drinking hospital coffee – prior to handing the

baton back to Jude.’

‘Freeing you up for curry with Siobhan?’

‘She told you?’

‘Doubt I can make it. I’m up north right now.’

‘Where?’

‘Inverness.’

‘To do with Hamish Wright?’

Rebus took a moment to connect the dots. Wright: the

missing haulier, who had brought the Starks to Edinburgh. ‘Just

passing through.’

‘Thing is, his nephew works at CC Self Storage.’

‘That’s the place run by Darryl Christie’s pal?’

‘Yes. The Starks gave the owner a bit of a doing, but they

didn’t know his right-hand man is related to the very person

they’re looking for.’

‘Sounds to me like you’ve been doing proper dogged

detective work.’

‘You wouldn’t be far wrong.’

‘So what’s your next move?’

‘I might try for a search warrant, see if Hamish Wright rents

one of the units.’

‘Even if he does . . .’

‘It might not be in his name, yes. Which is why we might

require a sniffer dog.’

‘You’ve given it some thought.’

‘Would you play it differently?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Rebus paused. ‘Remember what we were

talking about? Parents and kids . . .?’

‘Yes?’

‘I drove to Tongue to see Sammy.’

‘And it went okay?’

‘It really did.’

‘Then we’ve both had a result today.’

Rebus’s phone had started vibrating, telling him he had

another call. ‘Got to go,’ he told Fox. But it was Cafferty’s

name on the screen, and Rebus wasn’t ready just yet for that

conversation. So instead he looked up Hamish Wright’s details,

and found that the petrol station was about a five-minute drive

from the haulage yard.

A quick detour, he told himself, fastening his seat belt as he

exited the forecourt.

The industrial estate looked like any other – anonymous

corrugated structures behind either high walls or higher fences.

Hamish Wright Highland Haulage wasn’t hard to spot, boasting

a large tartan banner above its gates and the same livery on the

trucks parked up behind the razor wire. Floodlights illuminated

the scene, and the gates stood open, a laden lorry crawling out.