He doubted McManus would swallow it. They could always deny any meeting had taken place, but there’d been witnesses. Besides, the denial would only work if Cafferty played along, and the only reason he’d do that would be to tighten the noose around Siobhan. She would owe Cafferty her whole future, and so would Rebus. Which was why, out in reception, he asked for another lift, this time to Merchiston. The uniforms in the patrol car were chatty but didn’t question where he was headed. Maybe they thought CID could afford to own homes in this quiet, tree- lined enclave. The detached Victorian houses sat behind high walls and fences. The street lighting seemed subdued, so as not to keep the inhabitants awake. The wide streets were almost empty-no parking problems here: each house boasted a driveway for half a dozen cars. Rebus got the patrol car to stop on Ettrick Road-didn’t want to be too obvious. They seemed content to hang out and watch him enter whichever house was his final destination. But he waved them away, busying himself with lighting a cigarette. One of the uniforms had gifted him half a dozen matches. Rebus struck one against a wall and watched the patrol car signal right at the end of the street. At the foot of Ettrick Road he took a right-still no sign of the patrol car and no place they could be hiding. No sign of life anywhere: no traffic or pedestrians, no sounds from behind the thick stone walls. Huge windows muffled by wooden shutters. Bowling green and tennis courts deserted. He took another right and walked halfway up this new street. Holly hedge in front of one house. Its porch was lit, flanked by stone pillars. Rebus pushed open the gate. Yanked on the bellpull. Wondered if maybe he should go around to the back. Last time he was here, there was a hot tub there. But then the heavy wooden door gave a shudder as it was opened from within. A young man was standing there. His body had been sculpted in the gym, and he wore a tight black T-shirt to underline the fact.
“Need to go easy on those steroids,” Rebus warned him. “Is your lord and master home?”
“Does it look like he’d want whatever you’re selling?”
“I’m selling salvation, son-everybody needs a taste of that, even you.” Over the man’s shoulder, Rebus could see a pair of female legs descending the staircase. Bare feet, the legs slim and tanned and ending at a white terry- cloth robe. She stopped halfway and leaned down so she could see who was at the door. Rebus gave her a little wave. She’d been brought up well-waved back, even though she’d no idea who he was. Then she turned and started padding back upstairs.
“You got a warrant?” the bodyguard was saying.
“The penny drops,” Rebus exclaimed. “But me and your boss go back a ways.” He pointed a finger in the direction of one of the entrance hall’s many doors. “That’s the living room, and that’s where I’ll wait for him.” Rebus made to pass the man, but an open palm against his chest stopped him.
“He’s busy,” the bodyguard said.
“Shagging one of his employees,” Rebus agreed. “Which means I may have to hang around for all of two minutes-always supposing he doesn’t have a coronary halfway through.” He stared at the hand pressed like a lead weight against him. “You sure you want this?” Rebus met the bodyguard’s stare. “Every time we meet from now on,” he said quietly, “this is what I’ll be remembering…and believe me, son, whatever failings people may tell you I have, I’ve got a whole fistful of gold medals in carrying a grudge.”
“And the booby prize when it comes to timing,” a voice roared from the top of the stairs. Rebus watched Big Ger Cafferty descend, tying his own voluminous bathrobe around him. What hair he still possessed was rising in tufts from his head, and his cheeks were red from exertion. “What the bloody hell brings you here?” he growled.
“It’s a bit lame as an alibi,” Rebus commented. “Bodyguard, plus some girlfriend you probably pay by the hour-”
“What do I need an alibi for?”
“You know damned well. Clothes in the washing machine, are they? Blood can be hard to get out.”
“You’re making no sense.”
But Rebus could tell that Cafferty had bitten down on the hook; time to reel him in. “Gareth Tench is dead,” he stated. “Stabbed in the back-which is probably just your style. Want to discuss it in front of Arnie here, or should we step into the parlor?”
Cafferty’s face gave nothing away. The eyes were small dark voids, the mouth set in a thin, straight line. He placed his hands in the pockets of his robe and gave a little flick of the head, a signal the bodyguard seemed to read. The hand dropped, and Rebus followed Cafferty into the huge drawing room. There was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a baby grand piano taking up space next to the bay window, huge loudspeakers on either side of it and a state-of-the-art stereo on a rack by the wall. The paintings were brash and modern, violent splashes of color. Above the fireplace hung a framed copy of the jacket from Cafferty’s book. He was busying himself at the drinks cabinet. It meant his back was kept turned to Rebus.
“Whiskey?” he asked.
“Why not?” Rebus replied.
“Stabbed, you say?”
“Three times. Outside the Jack Kane Center.”
“Home turf,” Cafferty commented. “A mugging gone wrong?”
“I think you know better.”
Cafferty turned round and handed Rebus a glass. It was quality stuff, dark and peaty. Rebus didn’t bother offering a toast, just washed it around his mouth before swallowing.
“You wanted him dead,” Rebus went on, watching Cafferty take the smallest sip of his own drink. “I listened to you rant and rave on the subject.”
“I was a bit emotional,” Cafferty conceded.
“In which state I’d put nothing whatsoever past you.”
Cafferty was staring at one of the paintings. Thick blotches of white oil, melting into oozing grays and reds. “I won’t lie to you, Rebus-I’m not sorry he’s dead. Makes my life that bit less complicated. But I didn’t have him killed.”
“I think you did.”
Cafferty gave the slightest twitch of one eyebrow. “And what does Siobhan say to all this?”
“She’s the reason I’m here.”
Now Cafferty smiled. “Thought as much,” he said. “She told you about our little chat with Keith Carberry?”
“After which, I happened to catch him stalking Tench.”
“That was his prerogative.”
“You didn’t make him?”
“Ask Siobhan-she was there.”
“Her name’s Detective Sergeant Clarke, Cafferty, and she doesn’t know you the way I do.”
“Have you arrested Carberry?” Cafferty turned his attention back from the painting.
Rebus gave a slow nod. “And my money says he’ll talk. So if you did have a little word in his ear…”
“I didn’t tell him to do anything. If he says I did, he’s lying-and I’ve got the detective sergeant as my witness.”
“She stays out of this, Cafferty,” Rebus warned.
“Or what?”
Rebus just shook his head. “She stays out,” he repeated.
“I like her, Rebus. When they finally drag you kicking and screaming to the Twilight Benevolent Home, I think you’ll be leaving her in good hands.”
“You don’t go near her. You never speak to her.” Rebus’s voice had dropped to a near whisper.
Cafferty gave a huge grin and emptied the crystal tumbler into his mouth. Smacked his lips and exhaled loudly. “It’s the boy you should be worried about. Your money says he’ll talk. If he does, he could well end up dropping DS Clarke right in it.” He made sure he had Rebus’s full attention. “We could, of course, make sure he doesn’t get a chance to talk…?”
“I wish Tench was still alive,” Rebus muttered. “Because now I know I’d help him take you down.”
“But you’re changeable, Rebus…like a summer’s day in Edinburgh. Next week you’ll be blowing me kisses.” Cafferty puckered his lips for effect. “You’re already suspended from duty. Are you sure you can afford any more enemies? How long is it now since they started to outnumber your friends?”
Rebus looked around the room. “I don’t see you hosting too many parties.”
“That’s because you’re never invited-the book launch excepted.” Cafferty nodded toward the fireplace. Rebus looked again at the framed artwork from Cafferty’s book.
