Siobhan cursed herself for letting him push her buttons. “The woman Dow murdered worked in the Sauna Paradiso. I think if I dig deep enough, I’ll find that you’re its owner.”
“Better buy a big shovel then.”
“You see how already you connect to both the murderer and his victim?”
“He’s not a murderer till he’s convicted,” Cafferty reminded her.
“You speak with a wealth of experience in that area, don’t you?”
Cafferty shrugged. He still had his arms folded, and looked relaxed, almost as if he were enjoying himself.
“Then there’s Edward Marber,” Siobhan pressed on. “You were at the private viewing the night he was killed. You were one of his clients. And ironically,
“Your point being . . . ?”
“My point being that your name keeps cropping up.”
“Yes, you said. I think the phrase you used was ‘at all sorts of tangents.’ That’s what we’re talking about here, DS Clarke: tangents, coincidences. That’s all we’re ever going to be talking about, because I didn’t kill Eddie Marber.”
“Did he cheat you, Mr. Cafferty?”
“There’s no proof he cheated anyone. Way I hear it, it was one man’s word against his.”
“Marber paid that man five thousand pounds to shut up.”
Cafferty grew thoughtful. Siobhan realized she had to be careful how much she gave away to this man. She got the feeling Cafferty coveted information the way other people did jewelry or fast cars. She already had one small result, however: when she’d slipped a mention of the Paradiso into the conversation, Cafferty hadn’t denied ownership.
A knock came at the door. It opened and a head appeared round it. Gill Templer.
“DS Clarke? Can I have a word?”
Siobhan rose from her chair. “DC Hynds, look after Mr. Cafferty, will you?”
Out in the corridor, Templer was waiting, looking around at the officers, who moved with more efficiency once they’d spotted her. “My office,” she told Siobhan.
Siobhan was hitting the mental REWIND button, trying to think what she’d done that might have merited a chewing out. But Templer seemed to relax once she was in her own room. She didn’t ask Siobhan to sit, and stayed standing herself, hands behind her, gripping the edge of her desk.
“I think we might try charging Malcolm Neilson,” she announced. “I’ve been talking it through with the Fiscal’s office. You’ve done a thorough job, Siobhan.”
Meaning the dossier Siobhan had compiled on the painter. She could see it on the desk.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Siobhan said.
“You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”
“Maybe I just think there are some loose ends . . .”
“Dozens, probably, but look at what we’ve got. He’d fallen out with Marber, a very public and bitter argument. He’d taken money — either that or extorted it. He was hanging around outside the gallery on the night in question — witnesses have placed him there.” Templer counted off on her fingers: “Means, motive and opportunity.”
Siobhan remembered Neilson himself saying much the same thing.
“At the very least we can get a search warrant,” Templer was saying, “see if it throws up any tidbits. I want you to organize it, Siobhan. That missing painting could be hanging in Neilson’s bedroom for all we know.”
“I don’t think it would be to his taste,” Siobhan commented, knowing it sounded lame.
Templer stared at her. “Why is it that every time
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Templer studied her, then sighed. “Any luck with Cafferty?”
“At least he didn’t bring a lawyer with him.”
“Might just mean he doesn’t rate the competition.”
Siobhan pursed her lips. “If that’s everything, ma’am . . . ?”
“Well, it isn’t. I want to go through the warrant for Neilson’s arrest. Shouldn’t take us too long. Let Mr. Cafferty sweat for a while . . .”
“I never could work with a woman boss,” Cafferty told Hynds. “Always needed to be my own man, know what I mean?”
Hynds had taken Siobhan’s seat. He was the one sitting with arms folded now, while Cafferty leaned over the desk, palms pressed downwards. Their faces were so close, Hynds could have taken a bet on which toothpaste the gangster used.
“Not a bad job, though, is it?” Cafferty ran on. “Being a copper, I mean. Don’t get as much respect as in the old days . . . maybe not as much fear either. Boil down to the same thing sometimes, don’t they, fear and respect?”
“I thought respect was something you earned,” Hynds commented.
“Same with fear, though, isn’t it?” Cafferty raised a finger to stress the point.
“You’d know better than me.”
“You’re right there, son. I can’t see you putting the frighteners on too many folk. I’m not saying that’s a fault, mind. It’s just by way of an observation. I should think DS Clarke’s a scarier proposition than you when she’s roused.”
Hynds thought back to the few times she’d snapped at him, the way she could suddenly change. He knew he was to blame; he had to think before he opened his trap . . .
“She’s had a pop at you, has she?” Cafferty was asking, almost conspiratorially. He leaned farther still across the desk, inviting some confidence or other.
“You don’t half talk a lot for a man who’s supposed to be under a death threat.”
Cafferty offered a rueful smile. “The cancer, you mean? Well, let me ask you something, Davie: if you had only so long to live, wouldn’t you want to make the most of every moment? In my case . . . maybe you’re right . . . maybe I do talk too much.”
“I didn’t mean . . .”
Hynds’s apology was cut short when the door burst open. He stood up, thinking it would be Siobhan.
It wasn’t.
“Well now,” John Rebus said, “isn’t this a surprise?” He looked at Hynds. “Where’s DS Clarke?”
Hynds frowned. “Isn’t she out there?” He thought for a moment. “DCS Templer wanted her. Maybe they’re in her office.”
Rebus put his face close to Hynds’s. “What’re you looking so guilty about?” he asked.
“I’m not.”
Rebus nodded towards Cafferty. “He’s the serpent in the tree, DC Hynds. Whatever he says, it isn’t worth hearing. Got that?”
Hynds gave a vague nod.
“Long time, no see.”
“You just keep popping up, don’t you?” Rebus said. “Like a greasy spot on some adolescent’s arse.”
“Would that make you the adolescent or the arse?” Cafferty asked. He was leaning back in his chair, spine straight, arms by his sides. Hynds noticed that the two men’s postures were almost identical.
Rebus was shaking his head. “It would make me the man with the Clearasil,” he said, causing Hynds to smile. He was the only man in the room who did. “You’re in this up to your neck, aren’t you?” Rebus went on. “Circumstantial evidence alone would see you in a courtroom.”
“And out again the same afternoon,” Cafferty countered. “This is harassment, plain and simple.”
“DS Clarke isn’t that way inclined.”
“No, but you are. I wonder who it was put her up to dragging me in here.” He raised his voice a little. “Are
