‘It was that camp,’ Samantha said quietly. ‘It got under Keith’s skin. He couldn’t let it go…’ Her eyes flitted between the detective and the publican. ‘Can I have a minute with my dad?’
They nodded and headed to the bar. Samantha took Rebus’s hand in hers.
‘Suppose we can plan the funeral now,’ she said. ‘I could do with a bit of help with that. And maybe a move south, too–if you wouldn’t mind us living nearer you.’
‘I reckon I could cope. You need to think it through, though, once the dust settles–Carrie’s schooling and all that.’ He paused. ‘And I’m sorry if I ever had any doubts about you.’
‘You’ve got a suspicious mind. Comes with the job.’
‘Doesn’t mean we can’t go on together, though, eh?’
She smiled and wrapped her arms around him again. Over her shoulder, Rebus saw Creasey lift his phone up, checking an incoming message and then motioning to May Collins that he needed to be elsewhere. His eyes met Rebus’s as he walked towards the door, and he mouthed a single word, knowing Rebus would understand.
The word was ‘farm’.
45
‘So when is he back?’ Fox asked into his phone as he walked.
‘Tomorrow or the day after. Saab’s been fixed, so that’s one less funeral to worry about. Though he’ll have to head north again at some point.’
‘John always gets his man, doesn’t he?’
‘Even if he barely makes it out alive. Killer damn near choked him to death. Where are you anyway?’
‘Clearing my head with a walk.’
‘Nowhere in the vicinity of a certain penthouse of recent acquaintance?’
‘Always so suspicious.’ Fox paused. ‘How about you?’
‘I’m at John’s new place. I was just going to drop off that signed Lee Child–bit of a house-warming gift. But then I sort of started on the unpacking.’
‘He won’t thank you for it.’
‘If it’s left to him, it could take months. Anyway, I won’t get it finished tonight–I’m out for dinner with Graham in a bit to celebrate.’
‘What’s the music?’
‘One of John’s–R. Dean Taylor.’
‘Never heard of him. Isn’t it a bit early to be celebrating? Long way still to go.’
‘Taped confession, though, Malcolm.’
‘That was a nice trick you pulled. Of course, it only takes Issy to tell her old pal Patsy that you phoned and told her everything, then invited her to pay her respects in person…’
‘A confession’s still a confession. No duress involved.’
‘He’s been in love with her for a long time? Morelli and Issy, I mean.’
‘Since they first met in their teens,’ Clarke agreed. ‘Never became physical–her choice, I’m guessing. But when Morelli found out she intended studying in Edinburgh, he signed up to the same course–which is a bit creepy if you ask me.’
‘Just a bit.’
‘Salman meantime was on his uppers–he’d even been borrowing from Morelli. But he couldn’t help blabbing to him about the money he’d told Issy would save her father’s dream project.’
‘Money he didn’t actually have?’
‘He was heading back home anyway to either face the regime’s music or save the family business. Far as he was concerned, he was having one last go at nailing Issy before he left. So Morelli lures him to Craigentinny with the promise that he has a source who wants to help with the buyout. They argue, and Morelli pulls out the knife.’
‘Which he’s taken because…?’
‘Because he’s Italian and reckoned Salman might take a bit of persuading to come clean to Issy and lay off her.’
‘Why didn’t Morelli just tell Issy?’
‘I think because a bit of his father has rubbed off on him–no compassion, no empathy.’
‘Ready to take the nuclear option.’ Fox found himself nodding his agreement as he stepped out of a cyclist’s path.
‘Anyway,’ Clarke was saying, ‘I don’t buy his version, not entirely. He chose Craigentinny because closer to home would have been too risky. Explains the fake mugging, too. Rather than an argument gone nuclear, this is about as calmly premeditated as any murder I’ve worked. So yes, I feel like celebrating. And meantime you’re out on a walk?’
‘I don’t drink and I don’t smoke–what else am I going to do, to paraphrase Culture Club?’
‘Adam and the Ants,’ she corrected him. ‘Well, be careful out there, Malcolm–city’s liable to bite you when you least expect it. I better start finishing up here–need to go home and get changed. See you tomorrow?’ Fox stayed silent. ‘Oh, you’re heading back to Gartcosh?’
‘Any reason for me not to?’
‘So this is us saying goodbye?’
‘You almost sound sorry to see me go. Far cry from when you first set eyes on me.’
‘Happy travels, DI Fox. Come see us again sometime.’
‘Bye, Siobhan.’ He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He was heading into Quartermile from Lauriston Place, having parked on a single yellow line. This time of the evening, he wasn’t going to get a ticket. (The one from outside the restaurant on Hanover Street was still in his glove box.) Quartermile was quiet, a few drinkers in the bar he passed, about half the tables filled in the Malaysian restaurant next door. Food-delivery drivers were coming and going while students hauled bags from the Sainsbury’s supermarket back to their digs.
Fox approached the tall glass box that Cafferty called home and pressed the intercom. He was buzzed in immediately, but stood in the vestibule a moment, gathering his thoughts before summoning the lift. He’d phoned and confirmed that Cafferty was able to see him. Cafferty had asked the reason of course, and all Fox had said was ‘Scoular’.
‘Good news, I hope, Malky.’
Well, that depended on your viewpoint.
Cafferty was waiting at the penthouse door for him, dressed in an open-necked white shirt and jogging bottoms, his feet bare. He padded back into the open-plan living area and snatched up a glass half filled with red wine.
‘Can I tempt you, Malcolm?’
‘Not a cat in hell’s chance.’
Cafferty sat down in his favourite chair and
