'Then who does?' Nairn shook his head. 'Come on, Bill. You get drugs in here, moneylending, gang fights. You've got a scrap contract to strip anything valuable out of old wiring: don't tell me none of that stuff's been sharpened and used for a stabbing.'
'Isolated cases, John. I'm not going to deny it: drugs are the big problem here. But it's still petty stuff. And it wasn't Cafferty's bailiwick.'
'Then whose was it?'
'I'm telling you, it's not organised that way.'
Rebus leaned back in his chair, studied his surroundings: clean paint and new carpets. 'Know what, Bill? You can change the surface, but it'll take more than that to change the culture.'
'It's a start, though,' Nairn said determinedly.
Rebus scratched his nose. 'Any chance I can see Cafferty's medical records?'
'No.'
'Then can you take a look for me? Put my mind at rest.'
'X-rays don't lie, John. The hospitals here are pretty hot on cancer. It's always been a west coast growth industry.'
Rebus smiled, as was expected. A solicitor was entering the cubicle next door. The prisoner followed a few moments later. He looked young, bewildered. Remand, probably; up to court later in the day. Yet to be found guilty, but already tasting the low life.
'What was he like?' Rebus asked.
Nairn's pager had sounded. He was fumbling to switch it off. 'Cafferty?' Looking towards where the pager was clipped to his belt. 'He wasn't too bad. You know how it is with career villains: serve their time, just part and parcel of the job, like a temporary relocation.'
'You think he's changed?'
Nairn shrugged. 'Man's older.' He paused. 'I'm assuming power's shifted in Edinburgh while he's been away.'
'Not so you'd notice.'
'He's back to his old ways, then?'
'He's not ready for the Costa del Sol just yet.'
Nairn smiled. 'Bryce Callan, now there's a name from the vaults. Never did manage to lock him up, did we?'
'Not for want of trying.'
'John...' Nairn looked down at his hands, which rested on the table top. 'You used to come and visit Cafferty.'
'So?'
'So it's more than just the usual cop/villain thing with you two, isn't it?'
'How do you mean, Bill?'
'I'm just saying...' He sighed. 'I'm not sure what I'm saying.'
'You're saying I'm too close to Cafferty? Maybe obsessed, not objective?' Rebus was remembering Siobhan's words: you didn't need to be obsessed to be a good cop. Nairn looked about to argue. 'I agree a hundred per cent,' Rebus went on. 'Sometimes I feel closer to that bastard than I do...' He bit off the ending: to my own family. Frankly, most of the time it felt like no contest. 'That's why I'd rather he was in here.'
'Out of sight, out of mind?'
Rebus leaned forward, looked around. 'Strictly between us?' Nairn nodded. 'I'm scared what'll happen, Bill'
Nairn held his gaze. 'He's planning to have a go at you?'
'If what you say is true, what's he got to lose?'
Nairn was thoughtful. 'What about you?'
'Me?'
'Say he's going to die, natural causes. Doesn't that cheat you? No chance of you trying to get at him? One final victory.'
One final victory.
'Bill,' Rebus chastised, 'do I look the sort to you who'd have any truck with that?'
The two men smiled. Next door, the prisoner's voice was rising.
'But ah havnae done nuthin'!'
Nairn tutted. 'Double negatives,' he said.
'Thought these booths were soundproofed?' Rebus said. Nairn's shrug told him they'd done their best. Then Rebus had a thought. 'What about someone called Rab, released about the same time as Cafferty?'
Nairn nodded. 'Rab Hill.'
'Rab was Cafferty's bodyguard?'
'I wouldn't go that far. They were only on the same wing for four, five months.'
Rebus frowned. 'Way Cafferty tells it, they were best pals.'
Nairn shrugged. 'Prison makes for strange alliances.'
'Rab's not coping too well with the outside world.'
'No? You'll excuse me if my heart doesn't bleed.'
The voice from next door again: 'How many times dae ah huv tae tell ye?'
Rebus got to his feet. Strange alliances he was thinking. Cafferty and Rab Hill. 'How did it come about, Cafferty s cancer?'
'How do you mean?'
'How was it diagnosed?'
'Usual way. He hadn't been feeling too hot. Took him in for tests, and bingo.'
'Just do me one favour, Bill. Look at our friend Rab. Medical records, whatever you've got. Will you do that for me?'
'Know something, John? You're harder work than half my prisoners.'
'Then pray a jury never finds me guilty.'
Bill Nairn was about to laugh that off, until he saw the look in Rebus's eyes.
By the time he got to Seismic Storage, Ellen Wylie and Siobhan Clarke had finished emptying the container. On the spare desk in Reagan's office sat eight columns of paperwork. The women were warming themselves by the heater, mugs of tea in their hands.
'What now, sir?' Wylie asked.
'St Leonard's,' Rebus said. 'That interview room you were using as an office, we'll take them there.'
'So no one else can see them?' Siobhan guessed.
Rebus looked at her. Her face was pink with cold, nose shiny. She was wearing ankle boots with socks over black woollen tights; a pale grey scarf accentuating the colour in her cheeks.
'Have you got two cars?' Rebus asked. The women agreed that they had. 'Load them up, and I'll see you back at base, okay?'
He left them to it, drove to the South Side and was smoking a cigarette in the car park when the Chief Super arrived in his Peugeot 406.
'Mind if I have a word, sir?' Rebus asked, in place of any greeting.
'Out here or in the warm?' Farmer Watson hoisted his briefcase, checked his watch. 'I've a noon appointment.'
'This'll only take a minute.'
'Fair enough. My office, soon as you've finished out here.'
The Farmer went in, closed the door. Rebus nipped his cigarette, tossed it, and followed.
Watson was firing up the coffee-maker when Rebus knocked at his open door. He glanced up, nodded for Rebus to enter. 'You look rough, Inspector.'
'I was working late.'
'What on?'
