Rebus asked.
'Someone I met when I was on a journalism course in New York. This guy knew Cantona was looking for someone who could do some digging in Scotland. I was the obvious choice.’
She attacked four chips with her fork. Chewing, she reached for the salt, vinegar, and tomato sauce. After momentary consideration, she poured some brown sauce on as well.
'I knew you'd do that,' Rebus said. 'And it still disgusts me.’
'You should see me with mustard and mayonnaise. I hear you got moved to SCS.’
'It's true.’
'Why?’
'If I didn't know better, I'd say they were keeping an eye on me.’
'Only, they were there at Mary King's Close, a murder that looks like an execution. Then next thing you're off to SCS, and I know SCS are investigating gun-running with an Irish slant.’
Maggie arrived with two cans of Irn-Bru. Mairie checked hers was cold enough before opening it. 'Are we working on the same story?’
'The police don't have stories, Mairie, we have cases. And it's hard to answer your question without seeing your story.’
She slipped a hand into her shoulder-bag and pulled out several sheets of neatly typed paper. The document had been stapled and folded in half. Rebus could see it was a photocopy.
'Not very long,' he said.
'You can read it while I eat.’
He did. But all it did was put a lot of speculative meat on the bones he already had. Mostly it concentrated on the North American angle, mentioning the IRA fundraising in passing, though the Orange Loyal Brigade was mentioned, as was Sword and Shield.
'No names,' Rebus, commented.
'I can give you a few, off the record.’
'Gavin and Jamesie MacMurray?’
'You're stealing my best lines. Do you have anything on them?’
'What do you think we'll find – a garden shed full of grenade launchers?’
'That could be pretty close.’
'Tell me.’
She took a deep breath. 'We can't put anything in print yet, but we think there's an Army connection.’
'You mean stuff from the Falklands and the Gulf? Souvenirs?’
'There's too much of it for it to be souvenirs.’
'What then? The stuff from Russia?’
'Much closer to home. You know stuff walks out of Army bases in Northern Ireland?’
'I've heard of it happening.’
'Same thing happend in the '70s in Scotland, the Tartan Army got stuff from Amy bases. We think it's happening again. At least, Jump thinks it is. He's spoken to someone who used to be in American Shield, sending money over here. It's easier to send money here than arms shipments. This guy told jump the money was buying British armaments. See, the IRA has good links with the East and Libya, but the loyalist paramilitaries don't.’
'You're telling me they're buying guns from the Army?’
Rebus laughed and shook his head. Maine managed a small smile.
`There's another thing. I know there's nothing to back this up. Jump knows it too. It's just one man's word, and that man isn't even willing to go public. He's afraid American Shield would get to him. Anyway, who'd believe him: he's being paid to tell jump this stuff: He could be making it all up. Journalists like a juicy conspiracy, we lap them up like cream.’
'What are you talking about, Mairie?’
'A policeman, a detective, someone high up in The Shield.’
'In America?’
She shook her head. 'At the UK end, no name or anything. Like I say, just a story.’
'Aye, just a story. How did you find out we had a man undercover?’
'That was strange. It was a phone call.’
'Anonymous of course?’
'Of course. But who could have known?’
'Another policeman, obviously.’
Mairie pushed her plate away. 'I can't eat all these chips.’
'They should put up a plaque above the table.’
Rebus needed a drink, and there was a good pub only a short walk away. Mairie went with him, though she complained she didn't have room for a drink. Still, when they got there she found space for a white wine and soda. Rebus had a half-pint and a nip. They sat by the window, with a view out over the Forth. The water was battleship grey, reflecting the sky overhead. Rebus had never seen the Forth look other than forbidding.
'What did you say?’ He'd missed it completely.
'I said, I forgot to say.’
'Yes, but the bit after that?’
'A man called Moncur, Clyde Moncur.’
'What about him?’
'Jump has him pegged as one of The Shield's hierarchy in the US. He's also a big-time villain, only it's never been proven in a court of law.’
'And?’
'And he flies into Heathrow tomorrow.’
'To do what?’
'We don't know.’
'So why aren't you down in London waiting for him?’
'Because he's booked on a connecting flight to Edinburgh.’
Rebus narrowed his eyes. 'You weren't going to tell me.’
'No, I wasn't.’
'What changed your mind?’
She gnawed her bottom lip. 'It may be I'll need a friend sometime soon.’
'You're going to confront him?’
'Yes… I suppose so.’
'Jesus, Mairie.’
'It's what journalists do.’
'Do you know anything about him? I mean anything?’
'I know he's supposed to run drugs into Canada, brings illegal immigrants in from the Far East, a real Renaissance man. But on the surface, all he is own a fish-processing plant in Seattle.’
Rebus was shaking his head. 'What's wrong?’
'I don't know,' he said. 'I suppose I just feel… gutted.’
It took her a moment to get the joke.
21
'Caro, thank God.’
Rebus was back in Fettes, at his desk, on the phone, having finally tracked Caroline Rattray to ground.
'You're calling off our drink,' she said coldly.
'I'm sorry, something's cropped up. Work, you know how it is. The hours aren't always social.’
The phone went dead in his hand. He replaced the receiver like it was spun sugar. Then, having requested five minutes of his boss's time, he went to Kilpatrick's office. As ever there was no need to knock; Kilpatrick waved him
