Saints of the Shadow Bible

‘So suddenly you can help me?’ he asked. ‘Bit of a Damascene conversion since lunchtime.’

Rebus offered a shrug. ‘You plan to dump on my friends from a great height; least I can do is make sure you’ve not got the squits.’

‘An arresting image.’

‘Are those the files?’ Rebus gestured towards two large cardboard boxes by Fox’s side.

‘Yes. Mid ’83, around the time Saunders killed Merchant.’

‘Allegedly,’ Rebus countered. ‘You’ve already been through them?’ He watched the other man nod. ‘And if my name was in the frame at any point, you wouldn’t want me here?’

Fox nodded again. ‘Of course, until recently you worked for the Cold Case Unit. You could have accessed the files at any time, making sure nothing incriminating was left from your days at Summerhall.’

‘For the sake of argument, let’s say I didn’t do that and I’m clean.’

‘In this particular instance,’ Fox felt it necessary to qualify.

‘In this particular instance,’ Rebus echoed. ‘And here I am, back in CID on sufferance. .’

‘Something you don’t want to jeopardise.’

‘Which is why I’m offering my services — means I can keep an eye on you.’

‘If you had nothing to do with it, you’ve nothing to fear from me.’

‘Unless you start screwing up and I find myself lumped in with everyone else who ever worked at Summerhall.’

Fox picked up the pen again. It was a cheap yellow ballpoint, but he handled it as if it were Montblanc’s finest.

‘So your idea of helping me is to doubt my abilities from the off?’

‘Saves us the trouble of discussing it later,’ Rebus offered.

‘And meantime I’m supposed to trust you? These are some of the first officers you bonded with, men you’ve known most of your professional life — why would you turn against them?’

‘That’s not why I’m here. I’m just making sure you don’t start a firefight.’

‘Firefights aren’t my style.’

‘That’s good, because the Saints — retired as they might be — aren’t lacking ammo.’

‘You’re not retired, though.’

Rebus nodded. ‘And they’ll see me as part of their armoury.’

‘But you won’t be?’

‘That’s for you to decide — once we start work on those files.’ Rebus gestured towards the boxes. Fox stared at him, then looked at the display on his phone.

‘Only an hour or so left before going home.’

‘Depends what time you knock off,’ Rebus countered.

Another lengthy examination, and then a slow nod of the head.

‘Okay, cowboy,’ Fox said, almost in a drawl. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got.’ They lifted the boxes on to the desk and started to get to work.

Sandy Bell’s wasn’t the closest bar to the Sheriff Court, but it was Rebus’s choice, and as Fox himself conceded: ‘You probably know better than I do.’ There was a small table near the back, so they grabbed it, Rebus fetching a cola for his new-found colleague and an IPA for himself. Fox was rubbing at his eyes and stifling a yawn. He insisted on chinking glasses. Rebus sank an inch of the pint and smacked his lips.

‘You never touch the booze?’ he asked. Fox shook his head. ‘Because you can’t?’

Fox nodded, then looked at him. ‘I can’t and you shouldn’t.’

Rebus toasted the sentiment and took another mouthful.

‘Was it the drinking that made your wife leave you?’ he enquired.

‘I could ask the selfsame question,’ Fox shot back.

‘And I’d have to tell you it was.’ Rebus thought for a moment. ‘Or maybe that was just part of it. Doing what we do. . I couldn’t let off steam at home — quite the opposite. So it got bottled up. And the only people I could talk to were other cops. That was the start of the distancing. .’ He exhaled, then shrugged.

‘You could have knocked the booze on the head,’ Fox told him.

‘Like you did, you mean? And that’s why you’re still happily married with a vibrant social life?’

Fox looked as if he might take offence, but then his shoulders loosened. ‘Touché,’ he said.

‘We’ve all got different ways of dealing with the shit we deal with,’ Rebus offered.

‘Which brings us back to the Saints,’ Fox stated. ‘Tight little grouping like that, you start to think your own rules are the only ones that matter.’

‘No argument with that.’

‘And back then, parameters were different, not as strict as they are now?’

‘Leeway,’ Rebus agreed.

‘Especially when you seemed to be getting result after result. The brass weren’t about to start questioning your methods.’

Rebus thought of Peter Meikle, the drive around Arthur’s Seat. He pursed his lips and said nothing. Fox noted this but ploughed on.

‘The whole system’s changed, hasn’t it? Used to be about snitches and contacts. You lost someone like Billy Saunders, suddenly you weren’t closing cases and getting the respect of the Big House. Whatever he’d done, you had to keep him on the street.’

‘You keep saying “you”.’

Fox held up a hand in apology. ‘I mean the Saints in general. But there had to be a hierarchy and I’m guessing that meant Gilmour — he was the DI after all. Was Saunders Gilmour’s man?’

‘You’d need to ask one or the other.’

Fox glared at him. ‘You really don’t know?’

‘Let’s say he was — what of it?’

Fox kept glaring. ‘Is there anything useful you do know?’

‘Plenty.’

‘Such as?’

‘That’s for a later date.’ Rebus picked up his glass again.

‘Suppose I tell you I need to know now.’

‘A later date,’ Rebus echoed.

‘Then maybe I should just let you slink back to Gayfield Square.’

‘Maybe you should. But think about this first — you bring in each of the Saints for questioning and I’m seated there beside you. They’re going to wonder if there’s any point lying or twisting the truth.’

‘Unless you’re acting as their spy all along.’

‘That’s certainly a risk,’ Rebus agreed with a shrug. ‘But the job you do, you probably think you’re good at reading people.’ He made eye contact with Fox and held it. ‘So ask yourself if I can be trusted or not.’

‘Let’s see,’ Fox eventually said. ‘Let’s just wait and see.’

‘But we start bringing them in tomorrow, yes?’

‘We only question them when I’m ready,’ Fox qualified.

‘Fair enough,’ Rebus said. Then, gesturing towards his empty glass, ‘Your round, by the way.’

But Fox shook his head. ‘Some of us have got homes,’ he explained. ‘Meet in the Sheriff Court at ten?’

‘You need to clear it with my boss.’

‘James Page?’ Fox checked. ‘I’m fairly sure he can spare you, Detective Sergeant Rebus. .’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Not long. I was in the neighbourhood.’ Clarke was standing in the doorway of Rebus’s tenement. ‘Just sending you a text.’ She showed him her phone.

‘Your flat’s miles from here,’ he told her.

‘I was having a drink with someone.’

‘Your lawyer?’

‘In Morningside.’

‘The Canny Man?’

She shook her head. ‘Montpelier’s.’ Rebus made a face: not his kind of place. ‘Where did you disappear to?’