Black Book

Calder pursed his lips. ‘I suppose it did for a little while.’ He pulled a notebook and pen out of his pocket. ‘Must go and see what they want to drink.’

Rebus nodded. ‘I’ll just have a word with Willie and your barman, see what they think.’

‘Fine. Lunch is on the house.’ Rebus shook his head. ‘We won’t poison you, Inspector.’

‘It’s not that,’ said Rebus. ‘It’s all this Presley stuff on the walls. It fair takes away my appetite.’

Willie the trainee chef looked like he was enjoying his day as ruler of all he surveyed. Flustered as he was, with no one to help him, still he gave off an air of never wanting things to change.

‘Remember me, Willie?’

Willie glanced up. ‘Jailhouse Roquefort?’ He went back to shimmying pans, then started to chop a bunch of fresh parsley. Rebus marvelled at how speedily he worked with the knife mere millimetres from his fingertips.

‘You here about Eddie? He’s a mad bastard that, but a brilliant chef.’

‘Must be fun to be in charge though?’

‘It would be if I got the credit, but those buggers out there probably think the great Eduardo’s prepared each dish of the day. Like Pat says, if they knew he wisnae here, they’d go off for a tandoori businessman’s lunch at half the price.’

Rebus smiled. ‘Still, being in charg…’

Willie stopped chopping. ‘What? You think I’ve got Eddie stashed away in my coal bunker? Just so I can have a day of tearing around like a mad-arsed fly?’ He waved his knife towards the kitchen door. ‘Pat might lend a hand, but no, he’s got to be out there buttering up the clientele. Butter Pat, that’s his name. If I was going to do away with either one of them, it’d be the one right outside that door.’

‘You’re taking it very seriously, Willie. Eddie’s only been missing overnight. Could be sleeping it off in the gutter somewhere.’

‘That’s not what Pat thinks.’

‘And what do you think?’

Willie tasted from a steaming vat. ‘I think I’ve put too much cream in the potage.’

‘It’s the way Elvis would have wanted it,’ commented Rebus.

The barman, whose name was Toni (‘with an i’), poured Rebus a murky half pint of Cask Conditioned.

‘This looks as conditioned as my hair.’

‘I know a good hairdresser if you’re interested.’

Rebus ignored the remark, then decided to ignore the beer too. He waited while Toni chattily served two student types at the other end of the bar.

‘How did Eddie seem after I left yesterday?’

‘What’s the name of that Scorsese film?’

‘Taxi Driver?’

The barman shook his head. ‘Raging Bull. That was Eddie.’

‘He was like that all evening?’

‘I didn’t see him much. By the time he comes out of the kitchen, I’m putting on my coat to go home.’

‘Was there anyon…unusual in the bar last night?’

‘You get a mixed crowd in here. Any particular type of unusual?’

‘Forget it.’

It looked like Toni-with-an-i already had.

16

It was beginning to look like the circle was now complete. Eddie told Holmes something about the body in the Central Hotel. Holmes tried to find out more, by going after the Bru-Head Brothers. Then Rebus came along to offer help. Now all three had been warned off in some way or other. Well, he hoped Eddie was just being warned off. He hoped it wasn’t more drastic. Everyone knew the chef had trouble keeping his mouth shut after a drink, and ‘after a drink’ seemed to be his permanent state. Yes, Rebus was worried. They’d tried scaring him off and only made him more determined. So would they now pull another stunt? Or would they perhaps revert to more certain means of silence?

Rebus’s face was as dark as the sky when he walked back into St Leonard’s, only to be ordered immediately to Lauderdale’s office. Lauderdale was pouring whisky into three glasses.

‘Ah, there you are.’

Rebus could not deny it. ‘Summoned by Bell’s, sir.’ He accepted the glass, trying not to look at Alister Flower’s beaming face. The three men sat down.

‘Cheers,’ offered Lauderdale.

‘Here’s tae us,’ said Flower.

Rebus just drank.

‘Been having a bit of bother, John?’ Lauderdale was positioning his half-empty glass on the desk. When he used Rebus’s first name, Rebus knew he was in trouble.

‘I don’t know about that, sir. There was a minor hiccup this morning, all taken care of.’

Lauderdale nodded, still seeming affable. Flower had crossed his legs, at ease with the world. When Lauderdale next spoke, he held up a finger to accompany each point.

‘Two schoolkids barge in on you. Then DC Petrie gets into a punch-up with a complete stranger. A window is smashed, and so is Petrie’s nose. DC Clarke’s down at street level trying to brush away broken glass and curious passers-by.’ He looked up from his full hand. ‘Any possibility, John, that Operation Moneybags has been placed in jeopardy?’

‘No possibility, sir.’ Rebus held up one finger. ‘The man won’t talk, because if he does we’ll charge him with assault.’ A second finger. ‘And the boys won’t talk because the father will warn them not to.’ He held his two fingers in the air, then lowered his hand.

‘With all due respect, sir,’ the Little Weed was saying, ‘we’ve got a fight and a broken window in what was supposed to be a deserted building. People are nosy, it’s human nature. They’ll be looking up at that window tomorrow, and they’ll be wondering. Any movement behind the window will be noticed.’

Lauderdale turned to Rebus. ‘John?’

‘What Inspector Flower says is true, sir, as far as it goes. But people are quick to forget. What they’ll see tomorrow is a new window, end of story. Nobody saw anything from the taxi offices, and even if they heard the glass, it’s not like it doesn’t happen every day along Gorgie.’

‘Even so, Joh…’

‘Even so, sir, it was a mistake. I’ve already made that clear to DC Clarke.’ He could have told them that it was all the fault of the woman from Trading Standards, but making excuses made you seem weak. Rebus could take this on the chin. He’d even take it on the back of his scalp if it would get him out of the office any faster. The aromas of whisky and body odour were making him slightly queasy.

‘Alister?’

‘Well, sir, you know my view on the subject.’

Lauderdale nodded. ‘John,’ he said, ‘a lot of planning has gone into Operation Moneybags, and there’s a lot at stake. If you’re going to let a couple of kids wander into the middle of the surveillance, maybe it’s time you rethought your priorities. For example, those files beside your desk. That stuff’s five years old. Get your brain back to the here and now, understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘We know you must have been affected by the attack on DS Holmes. What I’m asking is, are you up to helping run Operation Moneybags?’

Ah, here it was. The Little Weed wanted the surveillance for himself. He wanted to be the one to bring in Dougary.

‘I’m up to it, sir.’

‘No more fuck-ups then, understood?’