Black Book

Chilton shrugged. ‘He never showed me any ID.’

Rebus raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re very knowledgeable about procedure. Maybe you’ve been in this sort of trouble before, eh?’ This shut Chilton’s mouth. ‘Maybe if I go down the station and look you up on the compute… what would this be, second offence? Third? Might we be talking about a wee trip to Saughton jail?’ Chilton was looking decidedly uncomfortable, which was exactly what Rebus wanted.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘we could always shut the book on this one.’ Chilton looked interested. ‘If,’ Rebus warned, ‘you could keep your gob shut about it. And get Neil and his pal to forget they saw anything.’

Chilton nodded towards the camera. ‘You’re watching somebody, eh? A stake-out?’

‘Best if you don’t know, Mr Chilton. Do we have a deal?’

Chilton thought about it, then nodded.

‘Good,’ said Rebus, ‘now get the fuck out of here.’

Chilton knew when he was being made an offer. He got the fuck out of there. Rebus shook his head.

‘Sir — ’

‘Shut up and listen,’ Rebus told Siobhan Clarke. ‘This could’ve blown the whole thing. Maybe it has, we won’t know for a day or two. Meanwhile, get that camera set up again and get back to work. Phone HQ and get someone in here to board up the window, leaving a big enough hole for the camera. Either that or we need a new pane of glass.

‘And listen to me, the two of you.’ He raised a warning finger. ‘Nobody gets to know about this, nobody. It’s forgotten as of now, understand?’

They understood. What they did not understand perhaps was exactly why Rebus wanted it kept quiet. It wasn’t that he feared the early termination of Operation Moneybags-as far as he was concerned, the whole project was doomed to failure anyway. No, it was another fear altogether, the fear that Detective Inspector Alister Flower, safe and snug in the Firth Pub with his own surveillance crew, would find out. By God, that would mean trouble, more trouble than Rebus was willing to contemplate.

A pity then that he hadn’t managed to say anything to DC Peter Petrie, who went back to St Leonard’s for a change of shirt. The blood on his T-shirt might have been mistaken for tomato sauce or old tea, but there was no doubting the cause of the white gauze pad which had been taped across his nose and half his face. And when questioned, Peter Petrie quite gladly told his story, embellishing it only a little-as, for example, in exaggerating his assailant’s size, skill, and speed of attack. There were sympathetic smiles and shakes of the head, and the same comment was uttered by more than one fellow officer.

‘Wait till Flower hears about this.’

By lunchtime, Flower had heard from several sources about the giant who had wreaked such havoc to the Gorgie surveillance.

‘Dearie me,’ he said, sipping an orange juice laced with blue label vodka. ‘That’s terrible. I wonder if Chief Inspector Lauderdale knows? Ach, of course he does, Rebus wouldn’t try to keep a thing like that from him, would he?’ And he smiled so warmly at the DC seated beside him that the DC got quite worried, really quite worried about his bos…

Siobhan picked up the telephone.

‘Hello?’ She watched John Rebus staring out of the broken window. He’d been watching the taxi offices for half an hour, so deep in thought that neither she nor Jardine had uttered a word to one another above a whisper. ‘It’s for you, sir.’

Rebus took the receiver from her. It was CID with a message to relay. ‘Go ahead.’

‘From someone called Pat Calder. He says a Mr Ringan has disappeared.’

‘Disappeared?’

‘Yes, and he wanted you to know. Do you want us to do anything this end?’

‘No thanks, I’ll go have a word myself. Thanks for letting me know.’ Rebus put down the phone.

‘Who’s disappeared?’ Siobhan asked.

‘Eddie Ringan.’

‘The Heartbreak Cafe?’

Rebus nodded. ‘I was only speaking to him yesterday. He threatened me with a panful of hot cheese.’ Siobhan was looking interested, but Rebus shook his head. ‘You stay here, at least until Petrie gets back.’ The Heartbreak Cafe was only five minutes away. Rebus wondered if Calder would be there. A kitchen without a chef, after all, it was hardly worth opening for the da…

But when Rebus arrived, the Cafe was doing a brisk trade in early lunches. Calder, acting as maitre d’, waved to Rebus when he entered. Passing the same young barman as yesterday, Rebus gave him a wink. Calder was looking frantic.

‘What the hell did you say to Eddie yesterday?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come off it, you had a stand-up row, didn’t you? I knew something was wrong. He was edgy as hell all last night, and his cooking went to pot.’ Calder saw no humour in this. ‘You must have said something.’

‘Who told you?’

Calder cocked his head towards the kitchen. ‘Willie.’

Rebus nodded understanding. ‘And today, Willie gets his chance for fame and fortune.’

‘He’s doing the lunches, if that’s what you mean.’

‘So when did Eddie go missing?’

‘After we closed last night, he went off to look for some club or other. One of those moveable feasts that takes over a warehouse for one night a week.’

‘You didn’t fancy it yourself?’

Calder wrinkled his nose in distaste.

‘Would this be a dub for gentlemen, Mr Calder?’

‘A gay club, yes. No secret there, Inspector. It’s all quite legit.’

‘I’m sure it is. And Mr Ringan didn’t come home?’

‘No.’

‘So maybe he found someone else to go home wit…?’

‘Eddie’s not that type.’

‘Then what type is he?’

‘The faithful type, believe me. He often goes out drinking, but he always comes back.’

‘Until now.’

‘Yes.’

Rebus considered. ‘Bit early yet to start a missing person file. We usually give it at least forty-eight hours, if there’s no other evidence.’

‘What sort of evidence?’

‘Well, a body, for example.’

Calder turned his head away. ‘Christ,’ he said.

‘Look, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘I’m not,’ said Pat Calder.

No, and neither was John Rebus.

Calder slapped a smile on his face as a couple entered the Cafe. He picked up two menus and asked them to follow him to a table. They were in their early twenties and dressed fashionably, the man looking like he’d walked out of a 1930s gangster flick, the woman like she’d put on her wee sister’s skirt by mistake.

When Calder came back he spoke in an undertone. ‘Someone should tell her you can’t hide acne with panstick. You know, Eddie hasn’t been the same since the night Brian was attacked.’

‘Brian’s okay now, by the way.’

‘Yes, Eddie rang the hospital yesterday.’

‘He didn’t visit, though?’

‘We hate hospitals, too many friends dying in them lately.’

‘The news about Brian didn’t cheer him up?’