‘But then they say love’s no respecter of friendship.’ Cafferty turned a corner and Darryl realised they were doing a little circuit that would bring them back to his house. ‘I like that you kept your dad’s surname,’ Cafferty was saying. ‘Are you still in touch with him?’
Darryl nodded.
‘Well, tell him I said hello.’
‘I’ll do that. Look, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why are we out for a walk together at the dead of night?’
Cafferty chuckled, then sniffed and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief.
‘You know a cop called Rebus?’ he asked as he wiped at his nose.
‘I’ve spoken to him.’
‘He mentioned your name to me. I’ve got a lot of friends in this town, people who make sure I’m as well informed as I need to be. You might think Frank has a lot of friends too, but they’re not the sort that can always be trusted. What do you think he would do if it turned out one of them had snatched your sister? What if they were using her as a bargaining tool of some kind?’
‘That’s not what the cops think happened.’
‘And they’re always right, are they? Come on, Darryl, we know better than that. But I’m hearing that you’re a bright one, and that’s why we’re out here together tonight. Frank Hammell’s enemies are going to see
‘And you’ll be there to help?’
‘I’m here for you and your family, Darryl. Any time you feel you need me.’
‘Frank says you’re retired.’
‘Maybe I am.’
‘So why the interest?’
‘Let’s just say there’s a bit of history between us.’
‘A score to be settled?’
‘Maybe. .’
Outside the house, they shook hands again.
‘Still living at home, eh?’ Cafferty commented.
‘For the moment.’
‘I’ve got a few flats I could let you take a look at.’
But Darryl shook his head.
‘You know your own mind — I like that about you too.’ Cafferty patted the young man’s arm and turned, starting to walk away. Darryl watched him disappear slowly into the darkness then angled his head towards the night sky again. There were stars up there, plenty of them. You just had to believe. .
19
‘I’ve always liked Perth,’ Siobhan Clarke said. ‘Just maybe not this particular bit of it.’
She was standing outside the divisional police HQ with Rebus, keeping him company while he smoked a cigarette. The building itself was a tall concrete lump hacked up from the 1960s or 70s. Tenements across the street and a petrol station next door.
‘When are you ever in Perth?’ Rebus asked.
‘Away games. St Johnstone’s ground is just off the M90.’
‘You go to away games?’ Rebus sounded disbelieving.
Clarke supported Hibernian FC. Time was, she’d taken Rebus to a few home matches, back in the days when you could smoke in the stadium. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a goal, just a succession of nil-nil draws made bearable by nicotine and the half-time pie.
‘There’s a game in Edinburgh this weekend if you fancy it,’ she was saying. ‘Thought not,’ she added, seeing the look on his face. ‘So what did you get up to last night?’
‘I had a quiet one — just a bit of reading.’
‘Those papers Christine got off the internet?’
‘Christ, no.’
‘What then?’
‘Hell are you smiling for? I
Someone behind them cleared his throat. He stood in the doorway, doing everything but tap his watch.
‘When you’re ready,’ he told them.
He was a uniformed inspector by the name of Peter Lightheart, same cop who had been with Clarke the previous day at Pitlochry. Clarke had introduced Rebus to him on their arrival this morning, Rebus taking the proffered hand briefly before advising that he would need a quick cigarette before they got started.
Lightheart’s demeanour belied his name. Clarke had already warned Rebus that the man lacked patience, wit and cunning: ‘So we need to crowd him out of the interview if we can.’
‘Two ticks,’ Rebus told Lightheart, indicating that he’d almost finished with the cigarette. To deflect the man’s attention, Clarke asked if the search team had been given its orders.
‘Of course,’ Lightheart replied. ‘Probably been at it for the past hour.’
‘How many officers?’
‘A dozen.’
‘Search warrant for the sleeping quarters?’
Lightheart nodded, looking annoyed that she would think it necessary to check.
‘Why here?’ Rebus asked, getting rid of his cigarette butt.
‘Sorry?’ Lightheart enquired.
‘Doesn’t Pitlochry have a perfectly usable cop shop? We could have talked to him there.’
‘No proper interview room,’ Clarke explained. ‘And no technology.’
Meaning: video camera and audio equipment. A uniformed officer was checking both as Lightheart, Clarke and Rebus filed into the ground-floor room. There was nothing on the cream-coloured walls except a No Smoking sign and some attempts at scratchwork graffiti. The camera was high up in a corner, pointing towards the table and three chairs. Thomas Robertson was seated, hands gripping the edge of the table, one knee bouncing nervously. He would be thinking to himself: this is all looking serious. Which was the whole point, of course.
‘All set?’ Lightheart asked the officer.
‘Yes, sir. Already recording.’
Lightheart settled himself opposite Robertson, Clarke taking the only free chair left. That was fine with Rebus. He rested his back against a wall, facing Robertson and quite visible to him. Lightheart waited for the officer to leave, then got busy with the formalities: making introductions for the benefit of the camera, and announcing location, date and time. As soon as he was finished, Robertson spoke.
‘They’re going to kick me off the job,’ he complained.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Twice in two days you’ve dragged me away from my shift.’
‘There’s a reason for that, Mr Robertson,’ Clarke told him. She had printed out the details of his arrest and conviction. ‘If you’d told us the truth yesterday, we might not be here.’
‘I did tell you the truth.’
‘Let’s be charitable and say you played down the seriousness of the assault.’ Clarke began to read from the charge sheet. Robertson’s eyes met Rebus’s, but saw no sympathy in them. When Clarke had finished, the room was silent for a moment.
‘Resisting arrest after a fight with your girlfriend?’ Clarke commented. ‘No, Mr Robertson — attempted rape of a woman you’d only just met.’
‘It wasn’t like that — we were both smashed. She was keen enough at the start. .’
