crisp white shirt open a couple of buttons at the neck. 'Just to make my day complete.'
Rebus just stood there, speechless for maybe the second or third time in his life. Cafferty entered the room, so that it suddenly became crowded. He brushed past Rebus, moving with the slow agility of a predator. His skin was as pale and creased as a white rhino's, his hair silver. His bullet-shaped head seemed to disappear into the neck of his shirt as he leaned down, his back to Rebus. When he straightened, he was holding one of the whisky bottles.
'Come on,' he told Rebus, 'you and me are going for a wee ride.' Then he gripped Rebus's arm and steered him to the door.
And Rebus, still numb, did what he was told.
Strawman: Cafferty's nickname for Rebus.
The car was a black 7-Series BMW. Driver in the front, and someone equally large in the passenger seat, which left Rebus and Cafferty in the back. 'Where are we going?'
'Don't panic, Strawman.' Cafferty took a slug of whisky, passed the bottle over, and exhaled noisily. The windows were down a fraction, and cold air slapped at Rebus's ears. 'Bit of a mystery tour, that's all.' Cafferty gazed from his window. 'I've been away a while. I hear the place has changed. Morrison Street and the Western Approach Road,' he told the driver, 'then maybe Holyrood and down to Leith.' He turned to his passenger. 'Regeneration: music to my ears.' , 'Don't forget the new museum.'
Cafferty stared at him. 'Why would I be interested in that?' He held out his hand for the bottle. Rebus took a swig and passed it across.
'I get the horrible feeling your being here is legit,' Rebus said at last.
Cafferty just winked.
'How did you swing it?'
'To be honest with you, Strawman, I think the governor didn't like it that I was running the show. I mean, that's what he's paid to do, and his own officers were giving Big Ger more respect than they gave him.' He laughed. 'The governor decided I'd be less of a grievance out here.'
Rebus looked at him. 'I don't think so,' he said.
'Well, maybe you're right. I dare say good behaviour and the inoperable cancer swung it for me.' He looked at Rebus. 'You still don't believe me?'
'I want to.'
Cafferty laughed again. 'Knew I could depend on you for sympathy.' He tapped the magazine pouch in front of him. 'The big brown envelope,' he said. 'My X-rays from the hospital.'
Rebus reached across, pulled them out, held them up one at a time to his window.
'The darkish area's the one you're looking for.'
But what he was looking for was Cafferty's name. He found it at the bottom corner of each of the X- rays. Morris Gerald Cafferty. Rebus slid the sheets back into the envelope. It all looked official enough: hospital in Glasgow; radiology department. He handed the envelope to Cafferty.
'I'm sorry,' he said.
Cafferty chuckled quietly, then slapped the front-seat passenger on the shoulder. 'It's not often you'll hear that, Rab: an apology from the Strawman!'
Rab half-turned. Curly black hair with long sideburns.
'Rab got out the week before me,' Cafferty said. 'Best pals inside, we were.' He grabbed Rab's shoulder again. 'One minute you're in the Bar-L, the next you're in a Beamer. Said I'd look after you, didn't I?' Cafferty winked at Rebus. 'Saw me through a few scrapes did Rab.' He rested against the back of his seat, took another gulp of whisky. 'City's certainly changed, Strawman.' His eyes fixed on the passing scene. 'Lots of things have changed.'
'But not you?'
'Prison changes a man, surely you've heard that? In my case, it brought on the big C He snorted.
'How long do they say...?'
'Now don't you go getting all maudlin on me. Here.' He passed over the bottle, then pushed the X- rays back into the seat pocket. 'We're going to forget all about these. It's good to be out, and I don't care what got me here. I'm here, and that's that.' He went back to his window-gazing. 'I hear tell there's building work going on all over.'
'See for yourself.'
'I intend to.' He paused. 'You know, it's very nice, just the two of us here, sharing a drink and catching up on old times... but what the hell were you doing in my office in the first place?'
'I was asking the Weasel about Bryce Callan.'
'Now there's a name from the crypt.'
'Not quite: he's out in Spain, isn't he?'
'Is he?'
'I must have misheard. I thought you still passed a little percentage on to him.'
'And why would I do that? He's got family, hasn't he? Let them look after him.' Cafferty shifted in his seat, as though made physically uncomfortable by the mere mention of Bryce Callan.
'I don't want to spoil the party,' Rebus said.
'Good.'
'So if you'll tell me what I want to know, we can drop the subject.'
'Christ, man, were you always this irritating?'
'I've been taking lessons while you were away.'
'Your teacher deserves a fucking bonus. Well, if you've a bone stuck in your craw, spit it out.'
'A builder called Dean Coghill.'
Cafferty nodded. 'I knew the man.'
'A body turned up in a fireplace at Queensberry House.'
'The old hospital?'
'They're turning it into part of the parliament,' Rebus was watching Cafferty carefully. His body felt tired, but his mind was fizzing, still getting over the shock. 'This body had been there twenty-odd years. Turns out there was building work going on in '78 and '79.'
'And Coghill's firm was involved?' Cafferty was nodding. 'Fair play, I can see what you're on about. But what's it got to do with Bryce Callan?'
'It's just that I hear Callan and Coghill might have crossed swords.'
'If they had, Coghill would have gone home minus a couple of hands. Why don't you ask Coghill himself?'
'He's dead.' Cafferty looked round. 'Natural causes,' Rebus assured him.
'People come and go, Strawman. But you're always trying to dig up the corpses. One foot in the past and one in the grave.'
'I can promise you one thing, Cafferty.'
'And what's that?'
'When they bury you, I won't come round after with a shovel. Yours is one corpse I'll be happy to leave rotting.'
Rab turned his head slowly, fixing soulless eyes on Rebus.
'Now you've upset him, Strawman.' Cafferty patted his henchman's shoulder. 'And I know I should take offence myself.' His eyes bored into Rebus's. 'Maybe another time, eh?' He leaned forward. 'Pull over!' he barked. The driver brought them to an immediate skidding halt.
Rebus didn't need to be told. He opened his door, found himself on West Port. The car sped off again, acceleration pulling the door shut. Headed for the Grassmarket... and Holyrood after that. Cafferty had said he wanted to see Holyrood, centre of the changing city. Rebus rubbed at his eyes. Cafferty, re-entering his life now of all times. He reminded himself that he didn't believe in coincidence. He lit a cigarette and started in the direction of Lauriston Place. He could cut through the Meadows and be home in fifteen minutes.
But his car was back in Gorgie. Hell, it could stay there till tomorrow; best of British to whoever wanted to steal it.
