Saints of the Shadow Bible

‘You got Rebus here.’

‘He actually didn’t need any persuading.’

Fox considered this for a moment. ‘Maybe he was warned by Eamonn Paterson. .’

Clarke held out her hand and Fox shook it.

‘Good luck,’ she told him.

‘You really mean that?’

‘Up to a point.’

Left alone in the back room of the bar, Fox noticed that his glass wasn’t quite centred on its mat. Slowly and carefully, he began the task of repositioning it.

Rebus had paused long enough at the North Castle Street junction to get a cigarette going and call Eamonn Paterson’s home number.

‘It’s John,’ he said, when Paterson picked up.

‘Last night was good, wasn’t it? Thanks again for the lift.’

‘I’ve just been speaking to Malcolm Fox.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Works Complaints, which makes him Macari’s attack dog.’

‘That was quick.’

‘He’s got us all in his sights. Reckons we banjaxed the Saunders case to keep a good snitch on the street.’

‘As if we’d do such a thing.’

‘But it wasn’t that, was it?’

‘How do you mean, John?’

‘I mean, there was something else — something that had all of you twitchy. Doors that were pushed shut when I walked past. . conversations that would stop dead when I stepped into the bar.’

‘You’re imagining things.’

‘Whether I am or not, you’re going to have to deal with Fox — and he might look like the sort of big soft bear you’d win at the fair, but he’s got claws he’s spent his whole life sharpening.’

‘And why would we even have to speak to him?’

‘Because Elinor Macari will have made sure he has all the powers necessary. Right now, he’s requisitioning files and evidence from thirty years back. He’ll be well prepped when he comes calling.’

‘You said it yourself, John — thirty years. . Maybe none of us can remember that far back.’

‘I doubt that’s going to be much of a defence, Eamonn. Not if there’s anything in those files for him to find.’ Rebus paused. ‘So let me ask you right now: is there?’

‘You were there, John. You know how we worked.’

‘I know some of it.’ Rebus watched as Siobhan Clarke emerged from Young Street. She saw him and waved. ‘Any time you want to fill in the blanks for me, I’d gladly listen — might mean I can help.’

‘John. .’

‘Think it over,’ Rebus snapped, ending the call. Then, to Clarke: ‘Hello, you.’

‘I was going to walk to Gayfield Square. You headed that way?’

‘Why not?’ The two crossed the road, mindful of traffic, and started along Hill Street.

‘So what did you think?’ she asked at last.

‘You know me, Siobhan. I never give much thought to anything.’

‘Yet you seemed to have nailed Fox — this job’s just deferring the evil hour when he’s consigned to CID.’ She paused. ‘You don’t mind me acting as go-between?’ She watched him shrug. ‘Actually,’ she corrected herself, ‘I think the word Fox used was “referee”.’

‘We were just a bunch of guys, Siobhan, typical of CID back then.’

‘Except that you had a name for your gang.’

‘I never had as much time for it as the others. When we went out on a job, we had this tape in the car — The Skids singing “The Saints Are Coming”. It was mandatory to play it.’

‘And if you forgot?’

‘Someone would get annoyed — Gilmour usually.’

‘He’s a developer these days, isn’t he?’

‘Hotels mostly. Went into business with a big-name footballer.’

‘He’s worth millions?’

‘So the story goes.’

‘I’ve seen him on No campaign posters. . You still know him?’

Rebus stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘I saw him last night.’

‘Oh?’

‘At Dod Blantyre’s house.’

‘The meeting your friend Porkbelly was telling you about?’

Rebus nodded, eyes boring into hers. ‘You can take that to Fox if you like. Bound to get his antennae twitching — a panicky reunion of the Saints.’

‘Is that what it was?’

Rebus scratched at his jaw. ‘I’m not sure,’ he confided. ‘The pretext was we wanted to catch up with Blantyre.’

‘Because he’s had a stroke?’

‘But he knew about Macari. And they wanted me to see what I could find out.’

Clarke nodded her understanding. ‘Which is why you agreed to meet Fox? And that phone call you just made. .’

‘Was me reporting back to Paterson,’ Rebus confirmed. He had started to walk again, Clarke eventually catching up.

‘You’re trying to play both sides?’ she guessed. ‘Meaning you really don’t know what happened with Billy Saunders.’

‘I’m not sure it’s as straightforward as Fox thinks.’

‘So tell him that.’

‘And drop the others in it?’ Rebus shook his head. ‘Not until I’m certain.’

‘You’re going to do some digging of your own? You know how that will look to Fox, don’t you?’

‘I don’t give a damn how it looks to your friend Fox.’

Clarke grabbed his arm. ‘You know whose friend I really am.’

Rebus had stopped walking again. He looked down at his forearm, her hand clamped around it. ‘Of course I do,’ he said, almost gently. ‘You’re Malcolm Fox’s friend.’

She looked furious for the two or three seconds before he burst into a grin.

‘You’re an absolute prick sometimes,’ she said, releasing her grip so she could curl her hand into a fist with which to punch him on the shoulder. Rebus winced and rubbed at the spot.

‘You been training with weights?’ he asked.

‘More than you have,’ she snapped back.

‘Same gym as your lawyer friend? Any more cheap dinners planned?’

‘You’re really not funny.’

‘Then why are you smiling?’ Rebus asked as they set off again.

‘Fox is taking charge of the files on the case,’ Clarke eventually commented.

‘Yes, he is,’ Rebus agreed.

‘So if you want to go digging. .’

‘All it’ll cost is my dignity,’ Rebus told her.

‘But back in the bar. .’

‘If I’d kowtowed straight away, he’d have suspected something.’ He glanced in her direction. ‘Some people might mistake that look for grudging admiration.’

‘They might,’ Clarke acknowledged. But she kept on looking.

The comms centre had gone through their logs for the night of the crash and found nothing from the western side of the city, other than the motorist who had called to report the crash itself. Rebus asked for those