`Then who is?’
But the window was rising again, and the Weasel – Cafferty had called him Jeffries – had turned his face away, dismissing Rebus from his mind.
He stood there, watching the car drive off. Was Cafferty making a big mistake, putting the Weasel in charge? Was it just that his best men had scarpered or gone over to the other side? Or was the Weasel every bit as sly, clever and vicious as his namesake? Back at the station, Rebus sought out Bill Pryde. Pryde was shrugging his shoulders even before Rebus had reached his desk.
`Sorry, John, no news.’
`Nothing at all? What about the stolen tapes?’
Pryde shook his head. `That's funny, I've just been talking to someone who claims to know who sold them on, and who he got them from.’
Pryde sat back in his chair. `I wondered why you hadn't been chasing me up. What've you done, hired a private eye?’
Blood was rising to his face. `I've been working my arse off on this, John, you know I have. Now you don't trust me to do the job?’
`It's not like that, Bill.’
Rebus suddenly found himself on the defensive.
`Who've you got working for you, John?’
`Just people on the street.’
`Well-connected people by the sound of it.’
He paused. `Are we talking villains?’
`My daughter's in a coma, Bill.’
`I'm well aware of that. Now answer my question!' People around them were staring. Rebus lowered his voice. `Just a few of my grasses.’
`Then give me their names.’
`Come on, Bill…’
'Pryde's hands gripped the table. `These past days, I've been thinking you'd lost interest. Thinking maybe you didn't want an answer.’
He was thoughtful. `You wouldn't go to Telford… Cafferty?’
His eyes widened. `Is that it, John?’
Rebus turned his head away.
`Christ, John… what's the deal here? He hands over the driver, what do you hand him?’
'It's not like that.’
`I can't believe you'd trust Cafferty. You put him away, for Christ's sake!' `It's not a question of trust.’
But Pryde was shaking his head. `There's a line we don't cross.’
`Get a grip, Bill. There's no line.’
Rebus spread his arms. `If there is, show me it.’
Pryde tapped his forehead. `It's up here.’
`Then it's a fiction.’
`You really believe that?’
Rebus sought an answer, slumped against the desk, ran his hands over his head. He remembered something Lintz had once said: when me stop believing in God, me don't suddenly believe in 'nothing'… me believe anything.
`John?’ someone called. `Phone call.’
Rebus stared at Pryde. `Later,' he said. He walked across to another desk, took the call.
`Rebus here.’
`It's Bobby.’
Bobby Hogan.
`What can I do for you, Bobby?’
`For a start, you can help get that Special Branch arsehole off my back.’
'Abernethy?’
`He won't leave me alone.’
`Keeps phoning you?’
`Christ, John, aren't you listening? He's here.’
`When did he get in?’
`He never went away.’
`Whoah, hold on.’
`And he's driving me round the twist. He says he knows you from way back, so how about having a word?’
`Are you at Leith?’
`Where else?’
`I'll be there in twenty minutes.’
`I got so pissed off, I went to my boss – and that's something I seldom have to resort to.’
Bobby Hogan was drinking coffee like it was something best taken intravenously. The top button of his shirt was undone, tie hanging loose.
`Only,' he went on, `his boss had a word with my boss's boss, and I ended up with a warning: co-operate or else.’
`Meaning?’
`I wasn't to tell anyone he was still around.’
`Thanks, pal. So what's he actually doing?’
`What isn't he doing? He wants to be in on any interviews. He wants copies of tapes and transcripts. He wants to see all the paperwork, wants to know what I'm planning to do next, what I had for breakfast…’
`I don't suppose he's managing to be helpful in any shape or form?’
Hogan's look gave Rebus his answer.
`I don't mind him taking an interest, but this verges on the obstructive. He's slowing the case to a dead stop.’
`Maybe that's his plan.’
Hogan looked up from his cup. `I don't get it.’
`Neither do I. Look, if he's being obstructive, let's put on a show, see how he reacts.’
`What sort of show?’
`What time will he be in?’
Hogan checked his watch. `Half an hour or so. That's when my work stops for the day, while I fill him in.’
`Half an hour's enough. Mind if I use your phone?’
29
When Abernethy arrived, he didn't manage not to look surprised. The space put aside for the investigation Hogan's space – now contained three bodies, and they were working at the devil's own pace.
Hogan was on the telephone to a librarian. He was asking for a run-down of books and articles about `the Rat Line'. Rebus was sorting through paperwork, putting it in order, cross-referencing, laying aside anything he didn't think useful. And Siobhan Clarke was there, too. She appeared to be on the phone to some Jewish organisation, and was asking them about lists of war criminals. Rebus nodded towards Abernethy, but kept on working.
`What's going on?’ Abernethy asked, taking off his raincoat.
`Helping out. Bobby's got so many leads to work on…’
He nodded towards Siobhan. `And Crime Squad are interested, too.’
`Since when?’
Rebus waved a piece of paper. `This might be bigger than we think.’
