approach might see your hackles rise. I hope you'll offer me the same courtesy.' He paused for a moment. 'Why are you so interested in Cafferty and the Russian?'
'A case I'm working.'
'The Todorov killing?'
Rebus nodded. 'Last drink he had before he died happened to be with Cafferty. Andropov was in the bar at the same time.'
'You think the pair of them are in cahoots?'
'I just wasn't sure how.'
'And now…?'
'Andropov's looking to buy a huge swathe of Edinburgh,' Rebus guessed. 'With Cafferty as his middleman.'
'Could be,' Stone conceded. Rebus was looking out of the passenger-side window towards his own car. Prosser seemed to be thumping the dodgy speaker with his foot.
'Not sure Andy shares my taste in music,' Rebus commented.
'Depends on whether you listen to nothing but Strathspey reels…'
'We may have a problem.'
Stone pretended to laugh. 'Bit unusual, isn't it?' he asked. 'A one-man stakeout? Is CID around these parts really that short of bodies?'
'Not everyone wants to work nights.'
'Tell me about it – wife's sometimes so surprised to see me, I keep thinking she must have the milkman hidden in the wardrobe.'
'You don't wear a wedding ring.'
'No, I don't. While you, John, are divorced with a grown-up daughter.'
'Anyone would think it was me you were interested in rather than Andropov.'
'I couldn't care less about Andropov. Authorities in Moscow are a gnat's bollock away from charging him with God-knows-what – fraud and deception and bribery…'
'He seems pretty relaxed about it. Is that because he's thinking of relocating?'
“Wait and see. But for what it's worth, whatever the reason for him being here, it seems legit.'
'Even with Cafferty in tow?'
'Thing about crooks, John, ninety per cent of everything they do is completely kosher.'
Rebus considered for a moment, the word overworld reverberating in his head. 'So if it's not Andropov you're after…'
'We've got your friend Cafferty in our sights, John, and this time he's going down. Reason your name flashed on the radar – all those run-ins down the years. But he's ours, John. Six of us have been slaving over him these past seven months. We've got phone taps and forensic accountants and a lot more besides, and we aim to have him in jail shortly with his ill-got gains reverting to the Exchequer.' Stone looked pleased with himself, but his eyes were cold, bright marbles. 'Only thing that could mess it up is someone blundering in, hellbent on their own half-baked theories and stoked by long-held prejudice.' Stone was shaking his head slowly. 'Can't let that happen, John.'
'Or in other words – butt out.'
'If I told you to do that,' Stone continued quietly, 'I have the suspicion you'd do exactly the opposite, just for the hell of it.' In the Saab, Prosser's head had disappeared from view as he wrestled with the door panel.
'What are you going to charge Cafferty with?'
'Maybe drugs, maybe money-laundering… tax evasion's always a good one. He doesn't think we know about his various offshore accounts…'
'Those forensic accountants you were mentioning?'
'They're so good, they have to stay anonymous – there'd be a price on their heads otherwise.'
'I can imagine.' Rebus was thoughtful for a moment. 'Anything tying Cafferty and Andropov to Alexander Todorov?'
'Only that Andropov knew him in Moscow.'
'Knew Todorov?'
'From years back… same school or college or something.'
'So you know a bit about Andropov… tell me, what's his connection to Cafferty? I mean, he's a different league, isn't he?'
'Listen to yourself, John… pushing sixty and frisky as a pup.'
Stone laughed again, but this time it sounded genuine. “You want Cafferty put away – that much is clear. But the best chance we have of giving you that little retirement gift is if you leave us to get on with it. Cafferty's not going to go to jail because you've been busy tailing him. He's going to be brought down by a paper trail: shell companies, VAT dodges, banks in Bermuda and Lithuania, sweeteners and pay-offs and doctored balance sheets.'
'That why you're busy tailing him?'
'We heard Cafferty on the phone to his lawyer, saying you'd pulled him in. Lawyer wanted to make an official complaint – called it “harassment”; Cafferty wouldn't have it, said it was actually “a bit
flattering”. That's what got us worried, John – don't want a loose cannon out there, not when we're readying to attack. We know you've been watching Cafferty's house – we've seen you do it. But I'm betting you've never seen us.'
'That's because you're so much better at it than I am,' Rebus said.
'You better believe it.' Stone leaned back in his seat, a gesture which seemed to have some significance for Prosser. The Saab's door opened and the fat man got out, tugging at the handle on the Vectra's passenger side.
'How's my hi-fi?' Rebus asked him.
'Good as new.'
Rebus turned his attention back to Stone. The detective handed him his business card.
'Be good,' Stone said. 'Leave the stakeouts to the professionals.'
'I'll sleep on it,' was all Rebus said. He got into his Saab and tried the stereo. The wonky speaker was working again, no sign of damage to the grille or door panel. Had to admit, he was impressed with that, but he managed not to let it show. Reversed out of the car park and made his way back to the main road. His options: a left turn into the city, or a right towards where he'd last seen Cafferty and Andropov. He signalled left and waited for the traffic to clear.
Then took the right turn.
But all three cars had gone. Rebus cursed under his breath. He could keep cruising, or maybe try the Caledonian Hotel. He could head to Cafferty's house and check if he was back.
'Just go home, John,' he told himself.
So that was what he did, working his way through Canonmills and the New Town and the Old Town, along the Meadows and then left into Marchmont itself and Arden Street. Where a parking space – the universe's small reward for his labours – awaited him.
As did two flights of stairs. He wasn't breathing too hard at the top.
Got a glass of water from the kitchen and gulped it, then poured in a fresh inch to carry through to the living room. Added the same amount of whisky and stuck Johnny Cash on the hi-fi before collapsing into his chair. But the Man in Black wasn't right. Rebus; felt a bit guilty, ejecting the CD. Cash had Fife roots, he seemed to i recall. Photos of him in some old newspaper visiting his hereditary home in Falkland. Rebus stuck John Martyn on instead, Grace and I Danger, one of the great break-up albums. Dark and brooding and I feeling just about perfect.
'Fuck,' Rebus announced, the single word summing up the day's adventures. He didn't know how to feel about the SCD men. Yes, he wanted Cafferty taken out of the game. But suddenly it was important that it be him making the bone-crunching tackle. So it couldn't just be about Cafferty; it was about the means and method, too. Years he'd been fighting the bastard, and now technology and some bespectacled penpusher might end up finishing the job. No mess, no fuss, no blood.
There should be mess.
