Black Book

‘I want you to stay here and wait for those results. Where’s Flower?’

‘Back on duty, sir.’

‘You mean back in the pub. I’ll want to talk to him too. Funny how this anonymous Deep Throat just manages to talk to the one person in St Leonard’s who loves Rebus as much as you do.’

‘Loves, sir?’

‘I said “loathes”.’

But actually, as Rebus already knew, the call had been taken not by Flower himself but by a DC who just happened to know how Flower felt about Inspector John Rebus. He’d called Flower at the pub, and Flower had raced Jackie Stewart-style back to St Leonard’s to tell Lauderdale.

Rebus knew this because he had time to kill at St Leonard’s while everyone else was up at the forensic lab in Fettes. And he knew he had to be quick, because Watson would suspend him as soon as he came back. He found some carrier bags and put the Central Hotel files in them, along with the reservations book from the Heartbreak Cafe. Then he took the whole lot down to his car and threw them in the boo…probably the first place Watson would want to look.

Christ, he’d been planning to get rid of that gun tonight.

Lauderdale had said it was ‘suspected’ of being the gun used in the Central Hotel murder. Well, that would be easy enough to prove or disprove. They still had the original bullet. Rebus wished he’d given the gun closer scrutiny. It had looked shiny new, but then maybe it had only ever been fired that one fatal time.

He didn’t doubt that it was the gun. He just wondered how the hell they’d managed to set him up. The only answer was to work backwards. Deek had handed him the gun. So somehow they’d gotten to Deek. Well, Rebus himself had put word out that he was looking for Deek Torrance. And word got around. Someone had heard and been interested enough to track down Deek too. They’d asked him what his connection was with John Rebus. And when Rebus had then asked Deek for a gun, Deek had reported back to them.

Oh yes, that was it, all right. Rebus had set himself up by asking for the gun in the first place. Because then they’d known exactly what to do with him. Planting the gun was a bit too obvious, wasn’t it? No one was going to be taken in. But it would have to be investigated, and 4, investigations like that could take months, during which time he’d be suspended. They wanted him out of the way, that was all. Because he was getting close.

Rebus smiled to himself. He was no closer than Alask…unless he’d stumbled upon something without realising it. He needed to go over everything again, down to the last detail. But this would take time: time he was sure Watson would unwittingly be about to offer him.

So, when he walked into the Chief Superintendent’s office, he surprised even Watson with his ease.

‘John,’ said Watson, after motioning for Rebus to sit, ‘how come you always seem to have a banana skin up your sleeve?’

‘Because I say the magic word, sir?’ Rebus offered.

‘And what is the magic word?’

Rebus looked surprised Watson didn’t know. ‘Abracadabra, sir.’

‘John,’ said Watson, ‘I’m suspending you.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Rebus.

He spent that evening on the trail of Deek Torrance, even driving out to South Queensferry-the most forlorn hope of a forlorn night. Deek would have been paid plenty to get well away from the city. By now, he might not even be in the western hemisphere. Then again, maybe they’d have silenced him in some other more permanent way.

‘Some pal you turned out to be,’ Rebus muttered to himself more than once. And to complete the circle, he headed out to his favourite massage parlour. He always seemed to be the only customer, and had wondered how the Organ Grinder made his money. But now of course he knew: the Organ Grinder would come to your home. Always supposing you were wealthy enoug…or had reputation enough.

‘How long have you been going out there?’ Rebus asked. Prone on the table, he was aware that the Organ Grinder could break his neck or his back with consummate ease. But he didn’t think he would. He hoped his instincts weren’t wrong in this at least.

‘Just a couple of months. Someone at a health club told his wife about me.’

‘Know her, do you?’

‘Not really. She thinks I’m too rough.’

‘That’s droll, coming from the wife of Big Ger Cafferty.’

‘He’s a villain, then?’

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘You forget, I’ve not been up here that long.’

True, Rebus had forgotten the Organ Grinder’s north London pedigree. When in the mood, he told wonderful stories of that city.

‘Anything about him you want to tell me?’ Rebus ventured, despite the thick hands on his neck.

‘Nothing to tell,’ said the Organ Grinder. ‘Silence is a virtue, Inspector.’

‘And there’s too much of it around. You ever seen anyone out at his house?’

‘Just his wife and the chauffeur.’

‘Chauffeur? You mean the man mountain with the knob of gristle for a left ear?’

‘That explains the haircut,’ mused the Organ Grinder.

‘Precious little else would,’ said Rebus.

After the Organ Grinder had finished with him, Rebus went back to he flat. Michael was watching a late film, the glow from the TV set flicking across his rapt face. Rebus went over to the TV and switched it off. Michael still stared at the screen, not blinking. There was a cup of cold tea in his hand. Gently, Rebus took it from him.

‘Mickey,’ he said. ‘I need someone to talk to.’

Michael blinked and looked up at him. ‘You can always talk to me,’ he said. ‘You know that.’

‘I know that,’ said Rebus. ‘We’ve got something else in common now.’

‘What’s that?’

Rebus sat down. ‘We’ve both been recently suspended.’

25

Chief Superintendent Watson dreaded these Saturday mornings, when his wife would try to entice him to go shopping with her. Dreary hours in department stores and clothes shops, not to mention the supermarket, where he’d be guinea-pig for the latest microwavable Malaysian meal or some rude looking unpronounceable fruit. Worst of all, of course, he saw other men in exactly the same predicament. It was a wonder one of them didn’t lose the rag and start screaming about how they used to be the hunters, fierce and proud.

But this morning he had the excuse of work. He always tried to have an excuse either for nipping into St Leonard’s or else bringing work home with him. He sat in his study, listening to Radio Scotland and reading the newspaper, the house quiet and still around him. Then the telephone rang, annoying him until he remembered he was waiting for just this call. It was Ballistics at Fettes. After he took the call, he looked up a number in his card index and made another.

‘I want you in my office Monday morning,’ he told Rebus, ‘for formal questioning.’

‘From which I take it,’ said Rebus, ‘that I bought a lulu of a gun.’

‘Lulu and her backing band.’

‘They were called the Luvvers, sir. The bullets matched up?’

‘Yes.’

‘You knew they would,’ said Rebus. ‘And so did I.’

‘It’s awkward, John.’

‘It’s supposed to be.’

‘For you as well as me.’

‘With all respect, sir, I wasn’t thinking of yo…’