Rather Be the Devil (Inspector Rebus 21)

  ‘It had crossed my mind. But Joe has his own guys, why not use them?’

  ‘Because Darryl would know from the get-go who’d sent them,’ Fox speculated.

  ‘Maybe …’

  ‘I’m not convincing you, am I?’

  ‘Your persuasive powers seem to be matching my own today. Look, if Christie calls you or wants to meet …’

  ‘He’ll probably be taping it for future use. I’m not a complete thicko, John.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. We’ll maybe catch up later, aye?’

  ‘Say hello to Siobhan from me in the meantime.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You’re nothing if not predictable, John.’

  ‘I prefer “methodical”.’

  ‘Will you tell her about Jude and Christie?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘Then I owe you one.’

  The line went dead. Rebus placed the phone on the passenger seat and turned up the music. Three cars ahead of him, the lights were red again.

  22

  Siobhan Clarke was in a corridor of the Royal Infirmary, phone held up to her face, when she recognised Rebus making his way towards her.

  ‘You’re limping,’ she said.

  ‘Just to correct you, I’m actually walking like John Wayne.’

  ‘John Wayne had a limp?’

  ‘Technically it’s called “moseying”.’

  ‘So you didn’t hurt yourself kicking in a door?’ She waved her phone in front of him. ‘Patrol car dispatched to Great Junction Street. Someone broke into a certain flat of our acquaintance. Neighbour described the intruder as a heavy-built man in his sixties with a local accent.’ She paused. ‘So what did you find?’

  ‘Bugger all,’ Rebus admitted. ‘What about Kenny Arnott?’

  ‘He’s in the ward right behind me. They say he’ll be okay, though he may not get back the full use of either hand.’

  ‘Lucky he’s not a pianist, then.’

  ‘He’s still sedated and there’s talk of an operation if the surgeons think it would help.’

  ‘So he’s not been saying anything?’

  ‘A few words here and there.’

  ‘Did those words include “accident”?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘So what’s next?’

  ‘I’m meeting with Alvin James. He needs convincing that the two cases are actually one.’

  ‘It’s not like we have any hard evidence. Would it help if I was there?’

  ‘I was just debating that – would you play nice?’

  ‘I’ll be yours to command, Siobhan.’ Rebus watched as a bed was pushed past by two male orderlies, its occupier hooked to a saline drip. ‘Christ, I hate hospitals,’ he said.

  ‘Had much experience lately? As a patient, I mean.’ She waited for an answer she knew wouldn’t come, then glanced down at an incoming text. ‘James can see me in half an hour. Better skedaddle.’

  ‘Is there anyone at Arnott’s bedside?’

  ‘His young cage-fighting pal is visiting. And Christine Esson’s due to take over from me.’ She peered over his shoulder. ‘Talk of the devil.’

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Esson apologised. ‘Stopped off for a bottle of water and a magazine.’

  ‘He’s in there,’ Clarke said, gesturing. ‘Bed three. Visitor with him is Donny Applecross. He uses Arnott’s gym. Don’t expect much chat.’

  Esson nodded and made her way into the ward. Rebus was looking at Clarke.

  ‘So am I invited or not?’

  ‘You really promise not to start winding James up?’

  ‘Cross my heart.’

  Clarke exhaled noisily. ‘Okay then. Let’s go …’

  ‘Is your head full of fucking mince?’ Rebus asked Alvin James.

  He was standing in front of the detective superintendent, Clarke alongside him. James was leaning back in his chair, one foot up on the edge of his desk. His team, Fox included, had been watching and listening. It had taken Clarke a full ten minutes to recount what they knew and what they suspected. At the end of which, after a few seconds’ thought, James had said he wasn’t sure, which was when Rebus had opened his mouth and asked the question.

  ‘John …’ Clarke cautioned.

  ‘I mean,’ Rebus ploughed on, ‘if you can’t see the connection, you’re up there with Tommy.’

  James’s forehead creased. ‘Tommy?’

  ‘Deaf, dumb and blind.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I’m any of those things,’ James continued calmly, ‘but as a police detective, I work on evidence, and that’s the one thing you’ve not given me.’

  ‘Then why not rally the troops and detect some?’

  ‘We’ll certainly interview Mr Arnott when he’s available.’ James looked down at the notes he’d made during Clarke’s presentation. ‘And Cafferty, too, though you don’t sound hopeful that either of them will give us anything. The fact remains that there’s nothing to prove Robert Chatham attacked Darryl Christie, or that this is why he was killed. We can ask Christie if he has an alibi for the night in question. From what you’ve told me, I’m guessing he will, and that it will be iron-clad.’ His eyes moved from Clarke to Rebus and back again. ‘You know yourself, Siobhan, what the Procurator Fiscal will say if I take this to her.’

  Clarke was forced to nod in agreement.

  ‘Okay, it’s thin,’ Fox piped up, ‘but that doesn’t mean it’s not right. John has a point when he says we should dig further.’

  ‘Not so long ago,’ James said, ‘your friend John here was telling us it all had to do with a murder back in the 1970s. There’s a folder on your desk as proof, Malcolm. I dread to think of the hours you wasted going through it, plus reading the book that woman wrote, plus letting yourself be taken on a wild goose chase to St Andrews and Perthshire.’

  ‘I’m right this time,’ Rebus bristled. ‘Siobhan knows it, Malcolm knows it.’

  ‘Some of us haven’t fallen under your spell the way they have,’ James commented. He rubbed one cheek. ‘On the other hand, we’re not exactly making headway in any other direction …’

  ‘This could be the lease of life the inquiry needs,’ Fox stressed.

  James looked at him. ‘Reversing away from the dead end, eh, Malcolm?’

  Clarke’s shoulders straightened – she had won him over.

  ‘Okay,’ he went on. ‘Let’s arrange a new game plan, starting with the attack at the gym – neighbours, local CCTV, whatever we can get our hands on.’ James had risen from his desk and was making a circuit of the room, pausing for a moment at each desk. ‘Was the hammer new? Let’s talk to DIY stores and hardware shops. Where’s the weapon now? Did the assailant dispose of it nearby? Then there are the nails – if we get lucky, he bought everything at the same time. It wasn’t forced entry, so maybe someone saw a stranger loitering in the vicinity. He might have popped into a local shop, or been parked kerbside for long enough that passers-by took note.’ He paused and fixed his eyes on Clarke. ‘Anything I’ve forgotten?’

  ‘We need to see if Arnott will open up to us. Might help if we have leverage.’

  James nodded. ‘So we look at his business dealings, see if there’s anything he’s been hiding. Friends, associates – the usual drill.’ He returned to his desk and fell into his chair, pulling a pad of paper towards him and turning to a fresh sheet. ‘I need five minutes to decide on what order we do this in and which tasks you each get.’ He had already started writing. ‘And in case nobody’s noticed, there’s a member of the public in this room – maybe one of you could escort him out of the building?’

  Rebus stared at the top of Alvin James’s head. ‘Your patter’s shite,’ he said.

  ‘I’d say that’s all you merit,’ James replied, without looking up.

  Glancey and Oldfield had risen to their feet, eager to haul Rebus outside, but Clarke placed a hand on his forearm.

  ‘Come on, John,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you to the door.’


  For a moment, he refused to budge, then he allowed her to lead him out into the corridor and down the stairs.

  ‘We got the result we wanted,’ she reminded him as they reached the ground floor.

  ‘Bully for us.’

  ‘He’s good at geeing up his team, though, you have to give him that.’

  ‘No, you have to give him that – he’s your boss, not mine.’

  ‘In point of fact, he’s not my boss either.’

  ‘You just handed him your case, Siobhan.’

  ‘I suppose that’s true.’ She followed Rebus out of the building on to the pavement. ‘So what now?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve got a dog to walk.’

  ‘And after that? Maybe put some ice on your hip?’

  ‘It’s not that bad.’

  ‘Just your body telling you something?’

  ‘Aye, it keeps doing that – I wish to hell it would shut up. You heading back upstairs?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘On you go, then. And tell James something from me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That I’ve seen more arseholes than a proctologist, and he’s a Grade A specimen.’

  ‘Am I allowed to rephrase that?’

  ‘I’d rather it was verbatim.’ Rebus stared across the street to where his Saab was parked. ‘And speaking of arseholes …’ He crossed the road and ripped the parking ticket from his windscreen. ‘Almost got the full set,’ he called to Clarke, waving it towards her as he opened the door and got in. He added it to the collection in his glove box and started the engine. If Hank Marvin did end up being the death of him, at least he could say he’d cheated the council out of their pound of flesh …

  Rebus drove straight back to the Infirmary and told Christine Esson she could take a break.

  ‘On whose orders?’ she asked.

  ‘All I need is five minutes. Maybe you could nip to the loo or something.’

  ‘It’s nice to see you too, John.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. How are you, Christine? You and Ronnie still an item?’

  ‘Not for much longer if he doesn’t shave off that moustache.’

  ‘I thought the hirsute look was in? Want me to drop a hint?’

  ‘You think I’ve not tried?’

  ‘I could hold him down while you take a razor to his face?’

  She smiled and placed her magazine on the floor before getting to her feet. ‘Five minutes?’

  ‘Tops.’ Rebus looked at the figure in the bed. The sheet had been pulled up to his neck, but with his arms lifted clear by a framework of splints and clamps, so that his bandaged hands sat mid-air, relieved of any pressure. His eyes were closed, but Rebus got the feeling he was awake. ‘Has he said anything?’

  ‘Not since I arrived. His other visitor left soon after.’

  ‘Donny Applecross?’

  Esson nodded. ‘A nurse asked Mr Arnott if he wanted a drink. He tilted his head and she fed him through a straw.’ Esson gestured towards the plastic tumbler on the bedside unit.

  ‘Off you go then and stretch your legs.’

  Rebus watched her pick up her shoulder bag and make her exit. The ward was full, but none of the men looked remotely interested in anything around them. Two were asleep, one with his mouth gaping, small snores escaping. Another was wearing headphones while watching a TV monitor. Each bed had a similar screen, but you paid for the privilege. He wondered if it was any more expensive than the car park, but surely that was unfeasible.

  Rebus didn’t bother sitting down. He walked around the bed to the other side and poured a little more water from the jug into the tumbler.

  ‘Fancy some?’ he asked. There was no response. He checked the chart as best he could. An intravenous drip had been fixed to Arnott’s left forearm. Usually they used the back of the hand, but Rebus could appreciate that this would not have been an option with this particular patient.

  ‘No family, Kenny? No mates other than your young fighter friend? That’s a shame. You look okay, though.’ Rebus paused. ‘In fact, you look good enough to kiss.’ He leaned over so that a shadow fell across Arnott’s face. With their mouths no more than an inch apart, Arnott’s eyes flew open. Rebus smiled and straightened up.

  ‘I seem to have got your attention,’ he said. ‘So here’s what I have to say. We are going after Cafferty on your behalf, with your help or without it. Either way he’s going to think you talked, so you better start hoping we put together a strong enough case to lock him away for a while. Be a hell of a lot easier if you told us at least a little of what happened. And if you so much as whisper the word “accident”, I swear I’ll squeeze your bandages till you puke.’ He paused again. ‘Okay, that’s me said my piece.’ He rounded the bed again and angled the chair so it was facing the patient. Then he settled on to it slowly. Arnott was blinking. His eyes seemed moist and he was focusing on the ceiling lights.

  ‘You’re not a cop,’ he said eventually, so softly Rebus almost didn’t catch it.

  ‘That’s right, Kenny.’

  ‘Then what are you?’

  ‘One of Cafferty’s oldest enemies, which is good news for you.’

  ‘I can’t help you. He’d kill me.’

  ‘You told him everything, though? Just nod if you did.’

  Rebus waited and watched Arnott angle his chin downwards and up again.

  ‘You know who ordered that attack on Darryl Christie,’ Rebus went on. ‘They used you to find someone. You chose Rab Chatham, gave him the address but nothing else. After Chatham found out it was Darryl, he had a wobble and decided to use Craw Shand as insurance, knowing Craw would take the blame with a gladsome heart and Chatham would be safe from a vengeful Darryl. If I’m right so far, another nod would be nice.’

  The head bobbed again.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rebus said. ‘So now we’re just left with the who and the why. The why isn’t such a problem – I think we’re slowly getting there. A name, Kenny, one little name and we can start building the case against Cafferty, always assuming the name you give me had Rab Chatham done away with … Am I safe to assume that at least?’

  Arnott squeezed his eyes shut and a tear rolled down the side of his face towards his ear. ‘He’d kill me,’ he repeated, voice quavering. His whole body seemed to be shivering, and Rebus turned his eyes towards the readout on the monitor next to the drip.

  ‘You okay, Kenny?’ he asked.

  Arnott’s teeth were clenched and his face was turning the colour of beetroot. Rebus rose from his chair and leaned over the bed. Arnott’s breathing had grown ragged.

  ‘Want me to call for someone? Pain getting a bit much?’ He looked around for a nurse but couldn’t see one. The numbers on the digital readout were climbing. Then Arnott seemed to spasm, his face grimacing.

  ‘Nurse!’ Rebus yelled.

  Two arrived out of nowhere, ignoring Rebus as they flanked the patient, assessing the situation. Words flew between them and Rebus backed away, giving them all the space they might need and more. He felt the presence of someone behind him and turned to find Christine Esson standing there, staring past him with widening eyes.

  More staff were approaching the bed. The curtains were being pulled closed around it. The sleeping patients had woken up and were watching. The man with the TV slipped off his headphones and craned his neck.

  ‘Jesus, John,’ Esson hissed.

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You did something.’

  ‘I was talking and he was listening and then …’

  A machine on a trolley was being wheeled in. Rebus could see the paddles attached to it. Someone else was bringing a syringe and a small bottle of clear liquid. A nurse was closing the curtains around all the other beds, to put paid to the spectacle. She pointed at Rebus and Esson.

  ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave. As in, right now.’

  They took a few steps into the corridor just as more staff rushed past. ‘What do I tell S
iobhan?’ Esson asked, looking in the direction of the ward.

  ‘The truth,’ Rebus advised.

  ‘Mentioning you?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘She’ll have my guts for garters, letting you have your five bloody minutes.’

  ‘Maybe you had to take a toilet break. I saw my chance and crept in.’

  Esson stared at him. ‘Is this us concocting a story?’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ Rebus agreed. ‘How is it sounding so far?’

  ‘It sounds like you’re saving my guts from becoming garters.’ Esson peered around the corner of the nurses’ station into the ward. ‘Maybe he’ll be all right, eh?’ she said, trying to sound hopeful.

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ Rebus said, listening as the doctor with the paddles barked the single word ‘Clear!’

  When news of Kenny Arnott’s death reached the MIT room, there was a numbed silence that lasted fully fifteen seconds until Fox broke it with a question.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘We keep going,’ James said.

  ‘Was the cardiac arrest brought on by the torture?’ Anne Briggs asked.

  ‘We’ll have to wait for the autopsy.’

  ‘If it was, we’re talking culpable homicide,’ Siobhan Clarke added. She had been the one who’d broken the news, after stepping out into the hallway to take Christine Esson’s call. She was still standing just inside the doorway, her phone in her hand. One detail she had left out was the presence of John Rebus at the bedside and the absence of anyone from CID.

  ‘Which makes it imperative,’ James said, ‘that we redouble our efforts. Sean, how are we getting on with those DIY stores and hardware shops?’

  ‘Biggest ones are all done. Staff are checking their recordings and even till receipts.’

  ‘That could take a while.’

  Glancey nodded. ‘And I’m on to the fourth hardware shop on my list.’

  ‘Good man,’ James said. ‘Wallace?’

  ‘Door-to-door is about ready to go.’ The room fell silent so Sharpe could be heard. ‘Took a while to conjure up the bodies. There are a couple left over, and that’ll comprise our search team until I can drum up more help. I’ll be heading out there in about ten minutes.’