Saints of the Shadow Bible

with chips, salad and a roll and butter.

‘Help me out,’ Rebus said to Fox.

‘You’re on your own, pal,’ Fox replied, tucking his napkin into his waistband. Then, after a glance at the wall clock: ‘And you’ve got about twenty minutes before we need to be elsewhere.’ Having said which, he picked up his spoon and got to work.

‘Did you always think you’d end up in the Complaints?’ Rebus asked.

‘Does anybody?’

‘Maybe not, but you seem to be good at it — judging by the number of cops who hate your guts.’

‘Yourself included?’

‘Maybe less so than before.’

Fox added some white pepper to the soup. ‘Somebody’s got to make sure we don’t take liberties — pun intended.’

‘And used many times before, I don’t doubt.’ Rebus removed some gristle from between his teeth. ‘But now that we’re getting to know one another, would that make you feel any worse if you had to bust me?’

Fox glanced up at him. ‘Maybe,’ he conceded.

‘You’d bust me anyway, though?’

‘If I needed to.’

‘Some bloody job that. Say I was trying to get some bawbag to confess, and they did end up confessing but I’d had to finesse a procedure or two. .?’

Fox smiled. ‘You think that puts you on the side of the angels?’

‘And you don’t?’

‘I’m not some bean-counter, John. Every situation is different, and circumstances are taken into account.’

‘Sounds like bean-counter talk to me.’ But Rebus was smiling too.

Fox checked the clock again.

‘You don’t think Stefan will grant us a few minutes’ leeway?’ Rebus asked.

‘Would you?’

‘Good point,’ Rebus was forced to agree, digging into the steak pie again.

‘Hey, take a look.’ Fox was gesturing towards the TV. Rebus saw the media outside Torphichen police station becoming restive as a man manoeuvred his way past them to get inside. The shot then cut to the same man leaving the building, while the newsreader explained that he was ‘businessman Owen Traynor from southwest London, whose daughter Jessica is the girlfriend of Patrick McCuskey’s son. .’

‘Good for you, Siobhan,’ Rebus muttered under his breath, before giving up on the pie and starting on the chips instead.

It was a three-storey hotel, all smoked glass and chrome, sited within easy reach of the M8 and M74 — a place where business traffic could stop for meetings or food or a bed for the night. Stefan Gilmour and his partner, the ex-footballer Barney Frewin, had built the place from scratch, and it had only been open three weeks. There were framed photos on a wall in the lobby showing guests at the official opening party, including Frewin and a few of his footballing cronies past and present, plus Gilmour’s girlfriend and some of her showbiz friends.

‘She’s still a beauty,’ Fox was forced to admit. Then, sensing Rebus’s look: ‘Used to see her on TV. .’

They were about to announce themselves at the reception desk, but Stefan Gilmour himself was walking towards them, calling out a greeting to Rebus. The two men shook hands, and Rebus introduced Fox.

‘Let’s make this quick,’ Gilmour said, sounding impatient. He was in shirtsleeves, no sign of a jacket. He summoned the lift, and once all three were inside, slipped a key card in and out of the slot before pressing the button marked PH.

‘Penthouse,’ he explained. ‘Not booked today, so we might as well.’

The doors slid open, and they were in a private hallway, doors leading off to living room, bathroom and bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave views towards the centre of Glasgow and the hills beyond. On the other hand, what Rebus mostly saw were motorway lanes and industrial units.

‘Impressive,’ Fox said, as Gilmour settled himself on one of the room’s two sofas, stretching his arms out along the back of it.

‘I just saw Owen Traynor on TV,’ Gilmour said. ‘What’s that all about?’

‘You know him?’ Rebus asked.

‘We were planning a hotel in Croydon — never quite happened, but Traynor was part of the syndicate. Now he pops up in Edinburgh. .’

‘He’s from Croydon originally,’ Rebus commented.

‘Hence his usefulness, John.’

‘Fascinating as all that may be,’ Fox broke in, ‘it’s not why we’re here.’

‘So why are you?’ Gilmour crossed one leg over the other.

Rebus stayed standing by a window, while Fox took an armchair. ‘It’s to do with Billy Saunders,’ Fox said.

‘I know — it was daft of me to phone him.’ Gilmour held up his hands, arms still stretched.

‘How did you get his number?’ Rebus asked.

‘Guy drives a minicab, John — how hard do you think it was?’

‘I’m guessing maybe money changed hands.’

‘No comment.’

‘Well,’ Fox interrupted, ‘maybe you’d care to “comment” on Mr Saunders’s sudden disappearance?’

Gilmour looked bemused.

‘His car was found abandoned on waste ground,’ Rebus explained. ‘Just when the Solicitor General was readying to question him more thoroughly.’

‘Whoa there.’ Gilmour leaned forward, elbows now resting on knees, hands clasped together. ‘You’re not going to blame me for that!’

‘What exactly did you say to him?’ Fox enquired.

‘I just wanted to know. .’ Gilmour broke off, fixing Fox with a look. ‘I’m not a cop any more, haven’t been for thirty years. Nothing to stop me wanting to ask the man what he was going to say to an investigation.’

‘Asking rather than threatening?’

‘Threats aren’t my style.’ Gilmour leapt to his feet. Pointing at Fox, he aimed his question at Rebus. ‘How can you hang around with this skid mark?’

‘So you asked Billy Saunders what he was going to say?’

Gilmour stood not three feet from Rebus, and eventually nodded by way of answer.

‘And?’ Rebus nudged.

‘And nothing — he didn’t want to talk to me. I doubt our little chat lasted twenty seconds.’ Gilmour paused. ‘I’m willing to bet you’ve applied to see his phone records — they’ll show I’m not lying.’

‘Did you call him back?’ Rebus asked.

‘Tried, but he wouldn’t pick up.’

‘And at no point did you offer an inducement?’ Fox added from his chair.

‘A bribe, you mean?’ Gilmour shook his head. ‘Tell you what I think, though — I think you lot scared him off. Thirty years after the fact and suddenly he’s going to be in the dock again. I’d probably have scarpered too.’

‘Nevertheless, Mr Gilmour,’ Fox commented, ‘it can’t be easy for you. You’ve got all of this now.’ He waved a hand, taking in the room and everything around it. ‘Stuff you did in the past, you think of it as long forgotten. This is your life now — unless Billy Saunders stands up in court and tells the world about the person you used to be.’

‘A good cop is who I used to be, the kind that put his neck on the line, the kind that made the public feel that little bit safer in their beds at night.’ Gilmour walked over and planted himself in front of Fox’s chair. ‘Whereas what I hear about you is you could never cut it in CID, near as dammit got down on your knees and begged for a Complaints posting.’

Fox got slowly to his feet, blood rising to his cheeks. ‘You know this doesn’t end it? Case can go ahead with or without Billy Saunders. I’m still going to be picking apart your little gang.’

‘He means us, John,’ Gilmour called to Rebus.