were in the living room by the time Tench trudged downstairs. The fittings weren’t to Rebus’s taste: sashed velvet drapes; brass lamps fixed to the walls on either side of the fireplace; two oversize sofas taking up much of the floor space. Oversize and brassy seemed to describe Louisa Tench, too. She wore dangling earrings and a clatter of bracelets. The tan had come from a bottle or salon, as had the piled auburn hair. A little too much blue eye shadow and pink lipstick. He counted five carriage clocks in the room and decided that nothing here had been chosen by the councilman.
“Evening, sir,” Siobhan said as Tench walked into the room. He rolled his eyes heavenward in reply.
“Don’t they ever let up, Lord? Should I sue for harassment?”
“Before you do that, Mr. Tench,” Siobhan went on calmly, “maybe you could look at this photo.” She handed it to him. “You recognize your constituent, of course?”
“He’s the same one you hooked up with outside the court,” Rebus added helpfully. “And by the way…Denise says hello.”
Tench glanced fearfully toward his wife. She was back in her chair, staring at the TV with its sound muted. “What about these photos then?” he said, louder than was strictly necessary.
“You’ll notice that he’s attacking that woman with a wooden stick,” Siobhan continued. Rebus was watching carefully-and listening, too. “In this next photo, he’s trying to melt back into the crowd. But you’ll agree that he’d just attacked an innocent bystander.”
Tench looked skeptical, eyes flitting between one photo and the other. “Digital, aren’t they?” he pointed out. “Easy enough to manipulate.”
“It’s not the photos that are being manipulated here, Mr. Tench,” Rebus thought it his duty to state.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We want his name,” Siobhan said. “We can get it tomorrow morning from the court, but we’d prefer to get it from you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why’s that then?”
“Because we’d-” Siobhan paused. “Because I’d like to know what the connection is. Twice at the campsite, you just happened along to save the day”-she stabbed a finger at one photo-“from him. Next thing you’re waiting for him when he comes out of police custody. And now this.”
“He’s just another kid from the wrong part of town,” Tench said, keeping his voice down but emphasizing each word. “Wrong parents, wrong school, wrong choices at every fork in the road. But he lives on my turf and that means I look out for him, same as I would do for any other poor bloody kid in his position. If that’s a crime, DS Clarke, then I’m ready to go into the dock and argue my case.” A fleck of saliva escaped his mouth and hit Siobhan on the cheek. She brushed it away with the tip of a finger.
“His name,” she repeated.
“He’s already been charged…”
Louisa Tench was back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, her eyes on the muted television.
“Gareth,” she said, “Emmerdale.”
“Don’t want your wife missing her soap, do you, Mr. Tench?” Rebus added. The opening titles were already on-screen. She had the remote in her hand, finger poised above the volume button. Three pairs of eyes boring into Gareth Tench, and Rebus mouthing the name Denise again…
“Carberry,” Tench said. “Keith Carberry.”
Music burst suddenly from the TV. Tench slid his hands into his pockets, stalked out of the room. Rebus and Siobhan waited a few moments, then said their good-byes to the woman who was tucking her legs beneath her on the chair. She ignored them, lost in a world of her own. The front door was ajar, Tench waiting for them outside, arms folded, feet apart.
“A smear campaign’s not going to do anyone any good,” he told them.
“Just doing our job, sir.”
“I grew up near a farm, DS Clarke,” he said. “I know bullshit when I smell it.”
Siobhan looked him up and down. “And I know a clown when I see one, even out of costume.” She walked toward the pavement, Rebus pausing in front of Tench, leaning forward toward his ear.
“The woman your boy smacked is her mother. That means this never ends, understood? Not until we get a result we’re happy with.” Leaned back again and nodded, reinforcing the message. “Wife doesn’t know about Denise then?” he added.
“That’s how you connected me to Ozyman,” Tench guessed. “Ellen Wylie told you.”
“Not very clever of you, Councilman, playing away from home. This is more a village than a city, bound to come out sooner or-”
“Christ, Rebus, it wasn’t like that!” Tench hissed.
“Not for me to say, sir.”
“And now I suppose you’ll go tell your employer? Well, let him do what he likes-I’m not about to bow down to his kind…or yours.” Tench gave a look of defiance. Rebus stood his ground a moment longer, then gave a smile and followed Siobhan back to the car.
“Special dispensation?” he asked, once he’d fastened his seat belt. She looked across, saw that he was waving a cigarette pack.
“Keep the window open,” she ordered. Rebus lit the cigarette and blew smoke into the evening sky. They’d only gone forty yards when a car pulled out in front of them, then braked, blocking half the road.
“Hell’s this?” Rebus hissed.
“Bentley,” Siobhan told him. Sure enough, as the brake lights dimmed, Cafferty emerged from the driver’s side, walking purposefully toward them, leaning down so his head was framed by Rebus’s open window.
“You’re a ways from home,” Rebus advised him.
“So are you. A wee visit to Gareth Tench, eh? I hope he’s not trying to buy you off.”
“He thinks you’re paying us five hundred a week,” Rebus drawled. “Made a counteroffer of two grand.” He blew smoke into Cafferty’s face.
“I’ve just bought a pub in Portobello,” Cafferty said, wafting his hands in front of him. “Come and have a drink.”
“Last thing I need,” Rebus told him.
“A soft drink then.”
“What is it you want?” Siobhan said. Her hands still gripped the steering wheel.
“Is it just me,” Cafferty asked Rebus, “or is she toughening up?” Suddenly, he reached a hand through the window, snatching one of the photos from Rebus’s lap. Took a couple of steps back into the road, holding it close to his face. Siobhan was out of the car in an instant, marching toward him.
“I’m not in the mood for this, Cafferty.”
“Ah,” he was saying, “I did hear something about your mother…And I recognize this little bastard.”
Siobhan stopped dead, hand caught in midgrab for the photo.
“Name’s Kevin or Keith,” Cafferty went on.
“Keith Carberry,” she told him. Rebus was getting out of the car, too, by now. He could see that Cafferty had snared her.
“Nothing to do with you,” Rebus warned him.
“Of course not,” Cafferty agreed. “I can understand it’s personal. Just wondered if I could help, that’s all.”
“Help how?” Siobhan asked.
“Don’t listen to him,” Rebus warned. But Cafferty’s gaze had her transfixed.
“Any way I can,” he said quietly. “Keith works for Tench, doesn’t he? Wouldn’t it be better to bring down both of them, rather than just the messenger?”
“Tench wasn’t in Princes Street Gardens.”
“And young Keith doesn’t have the sense he was born with,” Cafferty countered. “Tends to make lads like him suggestible.”
“Christ, Siobhan,” Rebus pleaded, gripping her by the arm. “He wants Tench taken down. Doesn’t matter to him how it happens.” He wagged a finger at Cafferty. “She’s not part of this.”
“I was only offering…” Cafferty held up his hands in surrender.
“What’s with the stakeout anyway? Got a baseball bat and a shovel in the Bentley?”
Cafferty ignored him, gave Siobhan back the photograph. “Pound to a penny, Keith’s playing pool at that place
