“Don’t really remember.”
“They’re thinking of turning it into a film. The early chapters, at any rate.” He lifted the plan and folded it, tossed it onto the Bentley’s backseat. “I’m not sure about this place.” He turned his attention to Rebus. “You mentioned bodies, and that’s what I get a sense of. All the people who used to work here, all of them gone, and Scottish industry along with them. A lot of my family were miners-I’ll bet you didn’t know that.” He paused. “You’re from Fife, Rebus. I’m betting you grew up surrounded by coal.” He paused. “I was sorry to hear about your brother.”
“Sympathy from the devil,” Rebus said. “That’s all I need.”
“A killer with a social conscience,” Siobhan added in an undertone.
“I wouldn’t be the first…” Cafferty’s voice drifted off. He rubbed a finger along the underside of his nose. “In fact, maybe that’s what’s landed on your plate.” He reached into the car again, opening the glove box this time. Drew out some rolled-up sheets of paper and made to hand them to Siobhan.
“Tell me what they are,” she asked, hands on hips.
“They’re your case, DS Clarke. Proof that we’re dealing with a bad bastard. A bad bastard who likes other bad bastards.”
She took the papers but didn’t look at them. “We’re dealing with?” Quoting his own words back at him.
Cafferty’s attention turned to Rebus. “Doesn’t she know that’s the deal?”
“There was never a deal,” Rebus stated.
“Like it or not, I’m on your side in this one.” Cafferty’s eyes were on Siobhan again. “These papers cost me some substantial favors. If they help you catch him, I’ll accept that. But I’ll be hunting him, too…with you or without you.”
“Then why help us?”
Cafferty’s mouth twitched. “Makes the race that bit more exciting.” He held open the back door of the Bentley. “Bags of space in the rear…make yourselves at home.”
Rebus joined Siobhan on the backseat, while Cafferty sat in the front. Both detectives were aware of Cafferty’s gaze. He wanted them to be impressed.
Rebus, for one, was finding it hard not to give anything away. He wasn’t just impressed; he was amazed.
Keogh’s Garage was in Carlisle. One of the mechanics, Edward Isley, had been found murdered three months back, his body dumped on waste ground just outside the city. A blow to the head and a toxic injection of heroin. The body had been naked from the waist up. No witnesses, no clues, no suspects.
Siobhan met Rebus’s eyes.
“Does he have a brother?” Rebus asked.
“Some obscure musical reference?” she guessed.
“Read on, Macduff,” Cafferty said.
The notes were just that, culled from police records. Those same police records went on to report that Isley had been in employment only a little over a month, having been released from a six-year prison stretch for rape and sexual assault. Both Isley’s victims had been prostitutes: one picked up in Penrith and the other farther south in Lancaster. They worked the M6 motorway, catering to truck drivers. It was believed there might be other victims out there, scared either of testifying or of being identified.
“How did you get these?” The question burst from Rebus. It caused Cafferty to chuckle. “Networks are wonderful things, Rebus-you should know that.”
“Plenty of palms greased along the way, no doubt.”
“Christ, John,” Siobhan was hissing, “look at this.”
Rebus started reading again. Trevor Guest. The notes started with bank details and a home address-in Newcastle. Guest had been unemployed ever since being released from a three-year term for aggravated burglary and an assault on a man outside a pub. During one break-in, he’d attempted to sexually assault a teenage babysitter.
“Another piece of work,” Rebus muttered.
“Who went the same way as the others.” Siobhan traced the relevant words with her index finger. Body found dumped by the shore at Tynemouth, just east of Newcastle. Head smashed in, lethal dose of heroin. The killing had happened two months back.
“He’d only been out of jail for two weeks.”
Edward Isley: three months past.
Trevor Guest: two.
Cyril Colliar: six weeks.
“Looks like maybe Guest put up a fight,” Siobhan commented.
Yes: four broken fingers, lacerations to the face and chest. Body pummeled.
“So we’ve got a killer who’s only after scumbags,” Rebus summed up.
“And you’re thinking, More power to him?” Cafferty guessed.
“A vigilante,” Siobhan said. “Tidying up all the rapists.”
“Our burglar friend didn’t rape anyone,” Rebus felt it necessary to point out.
“But he tried to,” Cafferty said. “Tell me, does all of this make your job easier or harder?”
Siobhan just shrugged. “He’s working at pretty regular intervals,” she said to Rebus.
“Twelve weeks, eight, and six,” he agreed. “Means we should have had another one by now.”
“Maybe we just haven’t looked.”
“Why Auchterarder?” Cafferty asked. It was a good question.
“Sometimes they take trophies.”
“And hang them on public display?” Cafferty’s brow furrowed.
“The Clootie Well doesn’t get that many visitors.” Siobhan grew thoughtful, turned back to the top of the first sheet and started reading again. Rebus got out of the car. The leather smell was beginning to get to him. He tried to light a cigarette, but the breeze kept extinguishing the flame. Heard the door of the Bentley open and close.
“Here,” Cafferty said, handing him the car’s chrome-plated lighter. Rebus took it, got the cigarette going, gave it back with the briefest of nods.
“It was always business with me, Rebus, back in the old days…”
“That’s a myth all you butchers use. You forget, Cafferty, I’ve seen what you did to people.”
Cafferty gave a slow shrug. “A different world…”
Rebus exhaled smoke. “Anyway, looks like you can rest easy. Your man was picked out all right, but not because of any connection to you.”
“Whoever did it, he carries a grudge.”
“A big one,” Rebus conceded.
“And he knows about convicts, knows release dates and what happens to them after.”
Rebus nodded, scraping the heel of one shoe over the rutted tarmac.
“And you’ll go on trying to catch him?” Cafferty guessed.
“It’s what I’m paid for.”
“But it’s never been about the money to you, Rebus, never just been a job.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Actually I do.” Cafferty was nodding now. “Otherwise I’d have tempted you onto my payroll, like dozens of your colleagues over the years.”
Rebus flicked the remains of his cigarette onto the ground. Flecks of ash blew back, dotting Cafferty’s coat. “You really going to buy this shit hole?” Rebus asked.
“Probably not. But I could if I wanted to.”
“And that gives you a buzz?”
“Most things are within reach, Rebus. We’re just scared what we’ll find when we get there.”
Siobhan was out of the car, finger stabbing the bottom of the final sheet. “What’s this?” she was asking as she walked around the Bentley toward them. Cafferty narrowed his eyes in concentration.
“I’m guessing a Web site,” he said.
“Of course it’s a Web site,” she snapped. “That’s where half this stuff comes from.” She shook the sheets in his face.
“You mean it’s a clue?” he asked archly.
