‘Sourced from where?’
‘Stewart again, I think.’
‘Not a man called Cafferty?’
‘The one who owns the Jenever Club? I’ve met him a few times – he’s a gangster, yes?’
‘We would say so.’
‘He liked me to tell him stories of the Mafia, the Camorra, the ’Ndrangheta. My parents live in a nice part of Rome, but they have security – if you have money in Italy, you never feel completely safe.’
‘We’ve looked up your family,’ Fox said. ‘Your father especially. It seems he’s not only a successful businessman but a hard-nosed one too. Didn’t he once sack an entire workforce with no warning? There are even rumours of links to Mafia figures … ’
‘In Italy, to be successful is to be hard-nosed. And wherever money is being made, the underworld isn’t far behind. My father treads carefully, I assure you.’
‘Did Cafferty have any dealings with Mr bin Mahmoud?’ Clarke enquired.
Morelli thought for a moment. ‘Not really. We only ever saw him at the club. He might appear out of nowhere, shaking hands, offering complimentary drinks. I don’t think he impressed Stewart.’
‘Explain.’ Clarke rested her forearms on the table.
‘Stewart would be hosting potential investors. He wanted to wow them. A private club will do that, no? But Cafferty always seemed to know when they were on the premises, and he would come asking questions, seeking information – and with no subtlety.’
‘What do you think was going on?’
‘To my mind, Cafferty is just a hoarder – he gathers information and contacts. Much of it may never be of use to him, but he gathers it anyway. Also, I think he liked to get under Stewart’s skin.’
‘So why does Mr Scoular continue to frequent the club?’
Morelli gave a thin smile. ‘Cafferty has a reputation. Some people find that attractive. They want to rub shoulders with dangerous people because it makes them feel a little bit dangerous and powerful, too. Do you understand?’
Both detectives nodded.
‘There is one further possibility to be explored,’ Morelli went on. ‘You say I was the victim of a hate crime, or else I was mistaken for Sal. But I could have been targeted precisely because I was part of his circle – another way of sending a message to him.’
‘But if he had no enemies … ’
‘None that he knew of,’ Morelli qualified. ‘None that any of us knew of. And yet he was murdered and I was attacked.’ He offered another shrug.
There was silence in the room for a few seconds until Fox broke it.
‘What will you do after university, Gio?’
‘I may continue my studies.’
‘Here or in Rome?’
‘Who knows?’
‘You’ve been friends with Isabella for some time,’ Clarke said. ‘Have you ever met her father?’
‘Yes.’
‘Here or at Strathy Castle?’
‘Here, London, up north … ’
‘Parties?’
‘Of course.’
‘He owns the land this millionaires’ playground of Mr Scoular’s would be built on.’
‘It is a foolish location – too windy, too cold.’ Morelli made show of shivering. ‘The one thing this country does not do well is weather.’
‘Was Salman at these parties?’ Fox enquired.
‘Some.’
‘They were pitches for funding?’
‘In a way, I suppose.’
‘Your family has money – your father is an industrialist … ’
‘You’re wondering if I’ve ever been asked to contribute – the answer is yes. But I’ve always declined. I grew up knowing business and commerce and the people involved. None of it appeals to me. Give me books and art – those are what’s important.’
‘Nice to have the choice,’ Clarke commented.
‘I know I am pampered, privileged, a dilettante – I have heard it from my father’s own lips.’ Morelli’s face fell a little at the memory.
Clarke exchanged a look with Fox. A twitch of his mouth told her he felt they were done here. She pushed back her chair, rising to her feet. Fox did the same. Morelli looked up at them.
‘Finished?’ he asked.
‘Thank you for coming in,’ Clarke said.
The two detectives escorted him from the room and watched him descend the stairs to the ground floor.
‘He didn’t seem particularly intimidated by our interview room,’ Fox commented in an undertone.
‘Might need to toughen up the decor,’ Clarke agreed. ‘Either that or we’re just going soft in our old age.’
‘Speaking of which – any word?’
‘Not a peep.’
‘Walkies at lunchtime, then?’
Clarke nodded resignedly and took a look at her phone. No missed calls or messages.
‘Could just be his way of avoiding all the changes here,’ Fox offered. ‘The new flat and everything.’
‘That’s not it,’ Clarke said. ‘He’s working a case and he’ll be damned if anything gets in the way of him solving it.’
‘Begs the question – why have local CID not run him out of town?’
‘Give them time,’ Clarke said, turning and heading into the MIT office.
24
Rebus was in the kitchen, eating a bacon roll and talking with Cameron and May. Cameron had mentioned the possibility of T-Cut to get rid of the damage to the Saab.
‘And you should report it,’ May added. ‘When all’s said and done, it’s a criminal act.’
‘I phoned Creasey and told him,’ Rebus answered. ‘He’s doubtless putting his best officers on it.’ He dug the note from his pocket and held it up so they could both read it. ‘Meantime, this was shoved through Samantha’s door.’
‘Christ, some people … ’ May Collins shook her head, rising and heading to the sink.
‘Why, though?’ Cameron asked, still chewing.
‘Because someone wants her gone,’ Rebus said.
‘Is that what your car’s all about? A warning?’
‘Maybe.’ Rebus folded the note up again and pocketed it. There was the sound of a distant thump. Someone was outside the pub’s front door. Collins, dish towel in hand, went to investigate, returning a few moments later, Julie Harris at her shoulder.
‘What’s wrong?’ Rebus asked, rising to his feet.
‘They’ve arrested Sam – taken her to Inverness.’
May Collins’ eyes were on Rebus. ‘Is that serious?’
‘One way to find out,’ he said.
Five minutes later he was in the Saab, heading south. Cloud was low, rain threatening and a couple of Dutch-registered motorhomes impeding his progress. He thought things through, knowing it made sense from the investigation’s perspective.
