The Farmer leaned back in his chair. He'd calmed down a little. Bollocking as therapy. `Nothing else you want to tell me, is there, while I've got you here?’
`No, sir. Except… well…’
`Go on.’
The Farmer sat forward again.
`It's the man in the flat above me, sir,' Rebus said. `I think he might be Lord Lucan.’
27
Leonard Cohen: `There is a War'.
They were waiting for Telford's retaliatory strike. The Chief Constable's idea: `visible presence as deterrent'. It came as no surprise to Rebus: probably even less so to Telford, who had Charles Groal ready, claiming harassment the minute the patrol cars turned up in Flint Street. How was his client supposed to carry on with his legitimate and substantial business interests, as well as his many community developments, under the pressure of unwarranted and intrusive police surveillance? `Community developments' meaning the pensioners and their rent-free flats: Telford wouldn't hesitate to use them as pawns. The media would love it.
The patrol cars would be pulled, it was just a matter of time. And afterwards: firework night all over again: That's what everyone was expecting.
Rebus went to the hospital, sat with Rhona. The room, so familiar to him now, was an oasis where calm and order reigned, where each hour of the day brought its comforting rituals.
`They've washed her hair,' he said.
`She's had another scan,' Rhona explained. `They had to get the gunk off afterwards.’
Rebus nodded. `They said you'd noticed eye movement?’
`I thought I did.’
Rhona douched his arm. 'Jackie says he might manage to come up again at the weekend. Call this fair warning.’
`Received and understood.’
`You look tired.’
He smiled. `One of these days someone's going to tell me how terrific I'm looking.’
`But not today,' Rhona said.
`Must be all the booze, clubbing and women.’
Thinking: Coke, the Morvena Casino, and Candice.
Thinking: why do I feel like piggy in the middle? Are Cafferty and Telford both playing games with me? Thinking: I hope Jack Morton's okay.
The phone was ringing when he got back to Arden Street. He picked up just as the answering machine was cutting in.
`Hold on till I stop this thing.’
Found the right button and hit it.
`Technology, eh, Strawman?’
Cafferty.
`What do you want?’
`I've heard about Paisley.’
`You mean you've been talking to yourself?’
`I had nothing to do with it.’
Rebus laughed out loud.
`I'm telling you.’
Rebus fell into his chair. `And I'm supposed to believe you?’
Games, he was thinking.
`Whether you believe me or not, I wanted you to know.’
`Thanks, I'm sure I'll sleep better for that.’
`I'm being set up, Strawman.’
`Telford doesn't need to set you up.’
Rebus sighed, stretched his neck to left and right. `Look, have you considered another possibility?’
`What?’
`Your men have lost it. They're going behind your back.’
`I'd know.’
`You'd know what your own lieutenants tell you. What if they're lying? I'm not saying it's the whole gang, could be just two or three gone rogue.’
`I'd know.’
The emotion had drained from Cafferty's voice. He was thinking it over.
`Fine, okay, you'd know: who'd be the first to tell you? Cafferty, you're on the other side of the country. You're in prison. How hard would it be to keep stuff from you?’
`These are men I'd trust with my life.’
Cafferty paused. `They'd tell me.’
`If they knew. If they hadn't been warned not to tell you. See what I'm saying?’
`Two or three gone rogue…’ Cafferty echoed.
`You must have candidates?’
'Jeffries would know.’
'Jeffries? Is that the Weasel's name?’
`Don't let him hear you call him that.’
`Give me his number. I'll talk to him.’
`No, but I'll get him to call you.’
`And if he's part of the breakaway?’
`We don't know there is one.’
`But you admit it makes sense?’
`I admit Tommy Telford's trying to put me in a box.’
Rebus stared from his window. `You mean literally?’
`I've heard word of a contract.’
`But you've got protection?’
Cafferty chuckled. `Strawman, you almost sound concerned.’
`You're imagining things.’
`Look, there are only two ways out of this. One, you deal with Telford. Two, I deal with him. Are we agreed on that? I mean, I'm not the one who went poaching players and territory and putting out frighteners.’
`Maybe he's just more ambitious than you. Maybe he reminds you of the way you used to be.’
`Are you saying I've gone soft?’
`I'm saying it's adapt or die.’
`Have you adapted, Strawman?’
`Maybe a little.’
`Aye, a fucking speck, if that.’
`We're not talking about me though.’
`You're as involved as anyone. Remember that, Strawman. And sweet dreams.’
Rebus put down the phone. He felt exhausted, and depressed. The kids across the way were in bed, shutters closed. He looked around the room. Jack Morton had helped him paint it, back when Rebus was thinking of selling. Jack had helped him off the sauce, too…
He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Got back into the car and headed for Young Street. The Oxford Bar was quiet. A couple of philosophers in the corner, and through in the back-room three musicians who'd packed up their fiddles. He drank a couple of cups of black coffee, then drove to Oxford Terrace. Parked the car outside Patience's
