‘He could have put it back after you’d gone.’
‘You’d have to ask him. But tell this to your boss — back then I took one for the team because I deserved it. Not this time, though, not this time.’
‘But you
‘No stairs, John, and not me.’
‘Then tell me what happened. And never mind all the Shadow Bible stuff. Someone killed Billy Saunders and they’re doing bugger all to stop you being put squarely in the frame. If you don’t want that to happen, I need to know.’
Gilmour considered this. Eventually he lowered himself on to the edge of the sofa, leaning forward, elbows on knees. Rebus stubbed out his cigarette and leaned forward too, as if to stress that anything said would be kept in confidence.
‘What will you do with it?’ Gilmour finally asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Rebus admitted.
‘I’d never testify in court — or a formal interview, come to that.’
Rebus nodded slowly.
‘Well then,’ Gilmour went on, tapping the tips of his fingers together as he made his decision. ‘It was Porkbelly. He’d had a skinful and was itching for some action. We’d pulled Kennedy in — found him drinking in a pub near Haymarket. We did it for the hell of it.’
‘You were angry about the not-proven verdict?’
‘I wanted him out of my city. Best bet was to scare him into leaving. Porkbelly agreed with that. Stuck him in a cell, shouted the odds at him, then left him to stew.’
‘His name was in the custody ledger?’
‘Had to get rid of that afterwards,’ Gilmour said, nodding.
‘He died in Summerhall?’
‘Porkbelly gave him a bit of a doing. One punch sent Kennedy flying over the back of his chair. Smacked his head and. . We thought he was unconscious at first, but you can tell, can’t you?’
‘You couldn’t have him being found like that?’
‘Bruised and bloody? Stuck in a cell without good reason? No, we had to get him out of there.’
‘You took him back to his house and left him at the foot of the stairs,’ Rebus stated.
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Then made sure the autopsy report mentioned plenty of alcohol in his system. You and Dod in attendance with Professor Donner.’
‘Best to keep Porkbelly out of it. Poor guy was in shock.’
‘How come I don’t remember?’
‘We didn’t know you well enough to let you in on it.’
‘Donner played along, though.’
‘Randy old goat — married man, but he did like the occasional call girl.’
‘Arranged by you?’
‘All part of the service.’ Gilmour took a deep breath and rose to his feet.
‘Hang on,’ Rebus said. ‘How did Billy Saunders find out?’
‘Come on, John — it’s not rocket science.’
Even so, it still took Rebus a minute. ‘He was in one of the cells?’ he eventually offered. ‘Heard or saw what happened? Another reason that page had to go from the custody ledger. .’
Gilmour made show of clapping his hands before sliding them back into the pockets of his coat.
‘So who shot Saunders?’
‘Not a clue,’ Gilmour said. ‘Kind of depends on whether it really is the same gun, doesn’t it?’ He turned to leave.
‘You should take this to Clarke,’ Rebus advised. ‘It’s the only way to clear your name.’
‘I don’t need to clear my name, John — it’s enough for me that I know I had nothing to do with it. And I’m a Saint, remember — defender of the faith and all that.’
‘To the death?’
‘Maybe not quite that far.’
‘You’ve got plenty of money, Stefan. You could fly off any time you like.’
‘Somewhere with no extradition treaty?’ Gilmour gave a thoughtful smile. ‘Like some old-time crook, always looking over his shoulder? Not my style, John. Besides, I’ve a fight on my hands, if you hadn’t noticed.’
‘The No campaign? Is that what your meetings were about?’
Gilmour nodded slowly. ‘I trust we can rely on your vote?’
‘I wouldn’t rely on anything if I were you, Stefan.’
Gilmour’s gaze hardened. ‘Pity,’ he said, making his way out of the room. Rebus followed him to the front door.
‘Any word on the McCuskey case?’ Gilmour was asking.
‘Stalled.’
‘So Owen Traynor’s involvement is at an end?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘Probably a good thing. I hear his latest venture has gone titsup, creditors and HMRC on the warpath. The guy’s combustible, John. .’
‘Tell me, Stefan — you seem to know a few shady business types — ever come across a Rory Bell? He’s west-coast — or he was.’
‘Something to do with alarm systems and security guards?’ Gilmour paused at the front door. ‘I know the name. I think a pal mentioned him a while back. In fact I bumped into the pal tonight — John McGlynn. Want me to put the two of you in touch?’ Gilmour had lifted his phone from his pocket.
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Rebus said.
‘Is this getting a bit awkward, John, you needing a favour from me?’ Gilmour smiled. ‘Reckon it means you’ll owe me further down the line?’ Without waiting for an answer, he made the call. ‘It’s gone to answering,’ he informed Rebus. Then, into the mouthpiece: ‘Hiya, John. Stefan here. You’re probably busy, but an old cop of my acquaintance is after news of Rory Bell. Maybe you could oblige. He’s on. .’ Gilmour broke off to look at Rebus. Rebus recited his mobile number, while Gilmour repeated it, ending the call.
‘John’s Glasgow-based, but you might get lucky — he’s this side of the country for a couple of days.’
‘And he’s legit?’
‘Solid gold,’ Gilmour said. ‘I don’t
‘I really don’t.’
‘Any chance you’ll let me know when you decide?’
‘And afterwards we’ll be square?’
Gilmour gave him a hard look. ‘Afterwards, I never want to see you again. Let’s make that absolutely clear.’ Having said which, he walked through the open door, leaving it ajar. Rebus listened to his footsteps as he made his descent, then closed the door and returned to the living room. He put side two of the Van Morrison album on again and sat down. It played for twenty minutes or so, but he wasn’t really listening.
Day Twelve
22
Rebus drove to work next morning in what his father would have called ‘a dwam’, unaware of the world around him. As he got out of the Saab, he realised the car park was unfamiliar — or not as familiar as it should have been. A uniformed sergeant was puffing on a pipe in the smoking zone.
