He looked at her. Tes?'
Tou've shown me yours, so I'm presuming you'll want to see mine.'
He folded his arms, rocking on the balls of his feet. 'Explain,' he said.
'Last night, we said we wanted everything wrapped up by end of play today.'
'Indeed we did.'
'So let's go to the CID suite and see what that clever DCI Macrae has done.'
Rebus, intrigued, was happy to follow. The empty room looked as if a bomb had hit it. The TodorovRiordan team had left their mark.
'Not even anyone to crack a beer with,' Rebus complained.
'Bit early,' Clarke chided him. 'Besides, I thought you didn't want a party.'
'But to celebrate our success with the Todorov case…'
'Call that “success”?'
'It's a result.'
'And what do they add up to, all these results?'
He wagged a finger at her. 'I'm leaving just in time – a few more weeks and you'd be jaundiced beyond saving.'
'Be nice to think we made a difference, though, wouldn't it?' she answered with another sigh.
'I thought that was what you were about to prove to me.'
She gave a smile – eventually – and sat down at her computer.
'I did it by the book – asked DCI Macrae to see if his pal would put in a word for us at Gleneagles. They promised they'd e-mail me the details first thing this morning.'
'Details of what exactly?'
'Guests who left the hotel late at night or early morning, just before Riordan was killed. Ones who checked out, and Ones who came back.' She was making rapid clicks with her mouse. Rebus moved around the desk to stand behind her, so he could see what she was seeing.
'Who's your money on, Andropov or his driver?'
'Got to be one or the other.' But then she opened the e-mail and her mouth fell open.
Well, well,' was all Rebus said.
It took them the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon to put everything together. They had the information from Gleneagles, and had pushed their luck still further by asking for the guest's licence plate. Armed with this, Graeme MacLeod at Central Monitoring – pulled from a golf game at Rebus's request – had gone back to the CCTV tapes from Joppa and Portobello, seeking a particular vehicle now, which made the task a whole lot easier.
Meantime, Gary Walsh had been charged, his wife released. Rebus had studied both parties' statements while Clarke showed more interest in some rugby match on the radio – Scotland being tanked by Australia at Murrayfield.
It was 5 p.m. by the time they entered IR1, thanking the uniformed officer and telling him he could go. Rebus had stepped outside half an hour earlier for a cigarette, surprised to find it already dark – the day had sped past unnoticed. Just one more thing he'd miss about the job… But there was still time for a bit of fun.
As the door to IR1 started to close, Rebus whispered in Clarke's ear, asking for two minutes alone with the suspect, adding that he wasn't about to do anything daft. She hesitated, but then relented.
Rebus made sure the door was closed, then walked over to the table and pulled out the metal-legged chair, making sure its feet scraped the floor with maximum discord.
'I've been trying to work out,' he began, What your connection with Sergei Andropov is, and I've decided it comes down to this – you want his money. Doesn't matter to you or your bank how he made it…'
'We're not in the business of dealing with crooks, Inspector,'
Stuart Janney stated. He was wearing a blue cashmere poloneck and pea-green twilled trousers with brown leather slip-on shoes, yet this weekend attire was too studied and self-conscious to be truly casual.
'Feather in your cap, though,' Rebus said, 'bringing in a multimillionaire and all his chattels. Business has never been better at FAB, eh, Mr Janney? Profits in the billions, but it's still a cutthroat world – dog eat dog and all that. You always have to make sure your name's up there in lights…'
'I'm not exactly sure where all this is headed,' Janney admitted, folding his arms impatiently.
'Sir Michael Addison probably thinks you're one of his golden boys. But not for much longer, Stuart – want to know why?'
Janney leaned back in his chair, seemingly unconcerned and not about to take the bait.
'I've seen the film,' Rebus told him in a voice just above a whisper.
'What film?' Janney's eyes met Rebus's and stayed fixed on them.
'The film of you watching another film. Cafferty bugged his own screening room, if you can believe that. And there you are, getting your jollies watching amateur-hour porn.' Rebus had lifted the DVD from his pocket.
'An indiscretion,' Janney conceded.
'For most people, maybe, but not for you.' Rebus gave the coldest of smiles, making sure the glint from the silver disc played across Janney's face, causing him to blink. 'See, what you did, Stuart, goes way beyond “indiscretion”.' Rebus pushed his elbows against the table, leaning further across it. 'That party? The scene in the bathroom? Know who the gobbler was, the drugged-up gobbler?
Her name's Gill Morgan – ring any bells? You watched your chief's beloved stepdaughter snorting coke and doling out blow-jobs. How's that going to play, next time you bump into Sir Mike at a corporate beanfeast?'
The blood was draining so rapidly from Janney's face, he might have had a tap attached to either foot. Rebus got up, tucking the disc back into his jacket, and walked to the door, opening it for Siobhan Clarke. She gave him a stare, but saw she wasn't going to be enlightened. Instead, she replaced Rebus in the chair, placing a folder and some photographs on the table in front of her.
Rebus watched as she took a moment to compose herself. She gave
another look in his direction and offered a smile. He nodded his reply. Your turn now, he was telling her.
'On the night of Monday November the twentieth,' Clarke began, 'you were staying at Gleneagles Hotel in Perthshire. But you decided to leave early… why was that, Mr Janney?'
'I wanted to get back to Edinburgh.'
'And that's why you packed your things at three a.m. and asked for your bill to be made up?'
'There was a pile of work waiting for me in the office.'
'But not so much,' Rebus reminded him, 'that you didn't have time to drop off Mr Stahov's list of Russians to us.'
'That's right,' Janney said, still trying to take in some news Rebus had given him. Clarke could see that the banker had been shaken by whatever Rebus had said. Good, she thought, knocks him off balance…
'I think,' she said, 'you brought us that list precisely because you wanted to know what was happening about Charles Riordan.'
'What?'
'Ever heard of the dog returning to its vomit?'
'It's Shakespeare, isn't it?'
'The Bible, actually,' Rebus corrected him. 'Book of Proverbs.'
'Not quite the scene of the crime,' Clarke continued, 'but a chance for you to ask a few questions, see how things were going…'
'I'm still not sure what you're getting at.'
Clarke gave a four-beat pause, then checked the contents of the folder. 'You live in Barnton, Mr Janney?'
'That's right.'
'Handy for the Forth Road Bridge.'
'I suppose so.'
'And that's the way you came back from Gleneagles, is it?'
'I think so.'
