Saints of the Shadow Bible

she was asking. ‘Came back from that meeting and Christine said you’d scarpered.’

‘I was in a meeting of my own.’

She thought for a moment. ‘With Fox?’ Rebus nodded. ‘And he doesn’t suspect?’

‘What’s to suspect?’ Rebus had dug out his key and was opening the door. ‘You coming in?’

‘Is that all right?’

‘Long as you’re not after a white wine spritzer. .’ He led the way up two flights of stairs to the door to his flat. Unlocked it and scooped up the mail before switching on the hallway light. She followed him into the living room. The ashtray next to his armchair needed emptying. A couple of beer bottles sat alongside, plus an empty whisky glass.

‘Cup of tea?’ he asked her.

‘Thanks.’

While he was in the kitchen, she slid some of his LPs back into their sleeves. She was about to pick up the beer bottles when he reappeared.

‘I’ll do that,’ he said.

‘I’ll bring the ashtray.’

She dumped its contents into the bin in the kitchen while he placed the bottles on the work surface next to the sink. He handed her a mug.

‘You got lucky,’ he said. ‘Milk’s only a day past its sell-by.’

‘I’ll settle for that.’

They went back through to the living room. ‘Is this okay for you now?’ he asked. ‘Or does your OCD require any further action?’

She said nothing, settling herself on the sofa and resisting the urge to arrange the newspapers next to her into a neater pile. Rebus was putting an LP on, turning down the volume. Miles Davis, she thought — from the period before he got weird.

Rebus was about to lift a cigarette from its packet, but remembered she didn’t like it.

‘So you’ve got yourself seconded to Fox?’ she asked eventually.

‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘Access to the Saunders file?’ She watched him nod. ‘And other cases relating to Summerhall?’ A shrug this time. ‘Has it occurred to you that Fox could be playing a game of his own?’

‘What sort of game?’

‘Wondering if there’s anything you’ll try to cover up, any reports that could suddenly go AWOL. .’

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘You’ve really persuaded him you’re on his side?’

‘Not completely — stands to reason he’s got his suspicions.’

She leaned forward on the sofa. ‘And is there anything for him to find? Anything that’s going to end up incriminating you?’

Rebus considered this. ‘If he looks hard enough, there might be a skeleton or two. Thing is, a lot of the supporting cast have left the stage — gone walkies or been fitted for the wooden suit. So while he might find stuff, he’ll have the devil’s own job making it stick.’

Clarke was staring at him. ‘How dirty was Summerhall?’

He studied the surface of his tea. ‘Dirty enough. You ever see that programme Life on Mars? It felt like a documentary. .’

‘Beating a confession out of someone? Planting evidence? Making sure the bad guys got done for something?’

‘You thinking of writing my biography?’

‘This isn’t a joke, John. Tell me what happened to Billy Saunders.’

Rebus blew on the tea, took a sip, then shrugged. ‘It probably went down the way everyone seems to think.’

‘Botching the case so he’d stay out of jail and useful?’

Rebus nodded.

‘And that’s all going to have to come out in the wash for the Solicitor General to get her second prosecution,’ Clarke stated. ‘Though there is another scenario.’

‘I know,’ Rebus said. ‘Saunders cuts a deal. For a lesser charge, he grasses up Summerhall.’

‘Which would reflect badly on Stefan Gilmour.’

‘It would be like giving a cow a machine gun — bullets could go anywhere.’

‘You might take a ricochet?’

Rebus shrugged again. ‘I wasn’t there but I was sort of there — you see what I’m saying?’

‘You were in the team but not the room?’

Rebus rose slowly to his feet, walked over to the stereo and stared at the record as it revolved, the pick-up arm travelling almost imperceptibly towards the centre of the vinyl. ‘It was thirty years ago, Siobhan. Everything was. .’ He turned towards her. ‘Is it fair to bring it all up?’

She looked at him. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? I mean, okay, the guy was a snitch, but he’d just pummelled someone to death. I’m guessing even back then your instinct would have been to wash your hands of him. A lesser crime. . maybe you’d have asked for leniency. . but murder?’

He returned to his chair, slumping into it.

‘You know I’m right, don’t you?’ she asked quietly. ‘I think you knew it then too. Saunders had to have something on Stefan Gilmour. When you saw Gilmour the other night, how was he? When Blantyre told him about reopening the case, how did he react?’

‘He was fine; he acted fine.’

‘Maybe acting is one of those things he does well. Have you seen him on TV, campaigning for Scotland to stay in the union?’

‘I doubt that’s an act.’

‘But it’s a role he’s playing.’

‘He resigned over the Saunders case.’

‘I know.’

‘He did the right thing.’

‘Does he still have any contact with Saunders?’

‘Why would he?’

‘If Saunders did have some hold over him. .’ She let this sink in. ‘And now Saunders knows Elinor Macari’s coming gunning for him. .’

‘He might want to talk to Stefan.’

‘If nothing else, Gilmour probably knows a few sharp lawyers.’

Rebus nodded slowly.

‘If Saunders does have something on Stefan Gilmour — something big — do you have any inkling what it might be?’

‘No.’

‘And if you dig down deep enough and hit the truth — do you take it to Malcolm Fox, or do you arrange another meeting of the Saints?’

‘I’d have to give it some thought.’

‘And you really think you can do all of this without Fox catching on?’

‘I don’t really give a damn if he catches on.’

‘No?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘But I know what Miles Davis would say if he did.’

Clarke narrowed her eyes. ‘What would he say?’

‘He’d say: So what.’

Day Four