Siobhan wasn’t hopeful. All the same, on Friday all they’d been doing was bagging evidence of one crime. Now, the signs pointed to two more. It was worth a bit of sifting and lifting.
She started unloading files and folders from the boxes. “You’ve been through this lot already?” she asked.
Rebus slid the window closed. “And all I learned was that Colliar was a big bad bastard. Chances are, he had more enemies than friends.”
“And the odds of him falling prey to a random killing?”
“Slim-we both know that.”
“And yet that appears to be what happened.”
Rebus held up a finger. “We’re reading a lot into a couple of items of clothing, owners unknown.”
“I tried Trevor Guest with Missing Persons.”
“And?”
She shook her head. “Not on any local register.” She tossed an emptied box onto the sofa. “It’s a Sunday morning in July, John…not a hell of a lot we can do before tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Guest’s bank card?”
“It’s HSBC. They’ve only one branch in Edinburgh -precious few in Scotland as a whole.”
“Is that good or bad?”
She gave a sigh. “I got through to one of their call centers. They told me to try the branch on Monday morning.”
“Isn’t there some sort of branch code on the card?”
Siobhan nodded. “Not the sort of information they give out over the phone.”
Rebus sat down at the table. “Keogh’s Garage?”
“Information did what they could. No listing on the Web.”
“The name’s Irish.”
“There are a dozen Keoghs in the phone book.”
He looked at her and smiled. “So you checked too?”
“Soon as I’d sent the SOCOs off.”
“You’ve been busy.” Rebus opened one of the folders; nothing in it he hadn’t seen before.
“Ray Duff’s promised me he’ll go to the lab today.”
“He has his eyes on the prize.”
She gave him a hard look before emptying the final box. The amount of paperwork caused her shoulders to slump.
“Day of rest, eh?” Rebus said. A phone started ringing.
“Yours,” Siobhan said. He went over to the sofa, lifted the cell from his jacket’s inside pocket.
“Rebus,” he announced. Listened for a moment, face darkening. “That’s because I’m not there…” Listening again. “No, I’ll meet you. Where is it you need to be?” Glancing at his watch. “Forty minutes?” Eyes on Siobhan. “I’ll be there.”
He snapped the phone shut.
“Cafferty?” she guessed.
“How did you know?”
“He does something to you…your voice, your face. What does he want?”
“He went to my flat. Says there’s something I need to see. No way I was letting him come here.”
“Much appreciated.”
“He’s got some land deal going on, needs to get to the site.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Rebus knew there was no way to refuse.
Queen Street… Charlotte Square… Lothian Road. Rebus’s Saab, Siobhan the wary passenger, gripping the doorsill with her left hand. They’d been stopped at barriers, made to show ID to various uniforms. Reinforcements were on their way into the city: Sunday was when the big exodus of officers north was due to happen. Siobhan had learned as much during her two days with Macrae, passed the info along to Rebus.
As they waited at lights on Lothian Road, they saw people standing outside the Usher Hall.
“The alternative summit,” Siobhan said. “That’s where Bianca Jagger’s due to speak.”
Rebus just rolled his eyes. In return, she smacked a fist into the side of his thigh.
“Did you see the march on TV? Two hundred thousand!”
“Nice day out for all concerned,” Rebus commented. “Doesn’t change the world I’m living in.” He looked at her. “What about Niddrie last night? Have the ripples from all those positive vibes managed to stretch that far?”
“There were only a dozen of them, John, against two thousand in the camp.”
“I know which side my money’d be on…”
After which they sat in silence until reaching Fountainbridge.
Once an area of breweries and factories where Sean Connery had spent his early years, Fountainbridge was changing. The old industries had all but vanished. The city’s financial district was encroaching. Style bars were opening. One of Rebus’s favorite old watering holes had already been demolished, and he reckoned the bingo hall next door-the Palais de Danse as was-would soon follow. The canal, not much more than an open sewer at one time, had been cleaned up. Families would go there for bike rides or to feed the swans. Not far from the CineWorld complex stood the locked gates of one mothballed brewery. Rebus stopped the car and sounded his horn. A young man in a suit appeared from behind the wall and released the padlock, swinging one half of the gate open, just enough to squeeze the Saab through.
“You’re Mr. Rebus?” he asked through the driver’s-side window.
“That’s right.”
The young man waited to see if Rebus was about to introduce Siobhan. Then he gave a nervous smile and handed over a brochure. Rebus glanced at it before passing it on.
“You’re a real estate agent?”
“I work for Bishops Solicitors, Mr. Rebus. Commercial property. Let me give you my card…” He was reaching into his jacket.
“Where’s Cafferty?”
The tone of voice made the young man more nervous still. “Parked around the side.”
Rebus didn’t wait to hear more.
“He obviously thinks you’re one of Cafferty’s team,” Siobhan said. “And from the line of sweat on his top lip, I’d say he knows who Cafferty is.”
“Whatever he thinks, it’s good news he’s here.”
“Why?”
Rebus turned to her. “Makes it less likely we’re walking into a trap.”
Cafferty’s car was a dark blue Bentley GT. He was standing over it, pressing a plan of the site against the hood so it wouldn’t blow away.
“Here, take a corner, will you?” he said. Siobhan obliged. Cafferty gave her a smile. “DS Clarke. A pleasure as ever. Promotion can’t be too far off, eh? Especially when the chief constable’s trusting you with something this big.”
Siobhan glanced toward Rebus, who shook his head, letting her know he wasn’t Cafferty’s source.
“CID leaks like a sieve” was Cafferty’s explanation. “Always has, always will.”
“What do you want with this place?” Siobhan couldn’t help asking.
Cafferty slapped a hand against the unruly sheet of paper. “Land, DS Clarke. We don’t always realize how precious it is in Edinburgh. You’ve got the Firth of Forth to the north, North Sea to the east, and the Pentland Hills to the south. Developers are scrabbling about for projects, putting pressure on the council to free up the Green Belt. And here’s a twenty-acre plot only five minutes’ walk from the financial district.”
“So what would you do with it?”
“Apart,” Rebus interrupted, “from burying a few bodies in the foundations.”
Cafferty decided to laugh at this. “That book made me a bit of money. Need to invest it somehow.”
“Mairie Henderson thinks your share went to charity,” Rebus said.
Cafferty ignored him. “Did you read it, DS Clarke?”
She hesitated, giving Cafferty his answer. “Like it?” he asked.
