Black Book

were two newspapers folded beside Aengus-Mairie’s paper and the Financial Times — and enough crumbs around the table to suggest that mother and father had eaten already.

Mrs Gibson put her head round the door. ‘A cup of coffee, Inspector?’

‘No, thank you, Mrs Gibson.’ She smiled and retreated.

‘I just thought,’ Rebus said to Aengus, ‘you might have arranged it.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Trying to shut me up before I can ask a few questions about the Central Hotel.

‘That again!’ Aengus bit into a piece of toast.

‘Yes, that again.’ Rebus sat down at the table, stretching his left leg out in front of him. ‘You see, I know you were there that night, long after Mr Vanderhyde left. I know you were at a poker game set up by two villains called Tam and Eck Robertson. I know someone shot and killed Tam, and I know you ran into the kitchens covered in blood and screaming for all the gas rings to be turned on. That, Mr Gibson, is what i know.’

Gibson seemed to have trouble swallowing the chewed toast. He gulped coffee, and wiped his mouth again.

‘Well, Inspector,’ he said, ‘if that’s what you know, I suggest you don’t know very much.’

‘Maybe you’d like to tell me the rest, sir?’

They sat in silence. Aengus toyed with the empty mug, Rebus waiting for him to speak. The door burst open.

‘Get out of here!’ roared Broderick Gibson. He was wearing trousers and an open-necked shirt, whose cuffs flapped for want of their links. Obviously, his wife had disturbed him halfway through dressing. ‘I could have you arrested right this minute!’ he said. ‘The Chief Constable tells me you’ve been suspended.’

Rebus stood up slowly, making much of his injured leg. But there was no charity in Broderick Gibson.

‘And stay away from us, unless you have the authority! I’ll be talking to my solicitor this morning.’

Rebus was at the door now. He stopped and looked into Broderick Gibson’s eyes. ‘I suggest you do that, sir. And you might care to tell him where you were the night the Central Hotel burnt down. Your son’s in serious trouble, Mr Gibson. You can’t hide him from the fact forever.’

‘Just get out,’ Gibson hissed.

‘You haven’t asked about my leg.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing, sir, just wondering alou…’

As Rebus walked back across the large hallway, with its paintings and candelabra and fine curving stairwell, he felt how cold the house was. It wasn’t just its age or the tiled floor either; the place was cold at its heart.

He arrived in Gorgie just as Siobhan was pouring her first cup of decaf of the day.

‘What happened to your leg?’ she asked.

Rebus pointed with his stick to the man stationed behind the camera. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I’m relieving Petrie,’ said Brian Holmes.

‘I wonder what any of us is doing here,’ said Siobhan. Rebus ignored her.

‘You’re off sick.’

‘I was bored, I came back early. I spoke to the Chief Super yesterday and he okayed it. So here I am.’ Holmes looked fine but sounded dour. ‘There was an ulterior motive, though,’ he said. ‘I wanted to hear from Siobhan herself the story of Eddie and Pat. It all sounds s…incredible. I mean, I cried at that cemetery yesterday, and the bastard I was crying for was sitting at home playing with himself.’

‘He’ll be playing with himself in jail soon,’ said Rebus. Then, to Siobhan: ‘Give me some of that coffee.’ He drank two scalding swallows, before passing the plastic cup back. ‘Thanks. Any progress?’

‘No one’s arrived yet. Not even our Trading Standards companion.’

‘I meant those other things.’

‘What did happen to your leg?’ Holmes asked. So Rebus told them all about it.

‘It’s my fault,’ Holmes said, ‘for getting you into this in the first place.’

‘That’s right, it is,’ said Rebus, ‘and as penance you can keep your eyes glued to that window.’ He turned to Siobhan. ‘So?’

She took a deep breath. ‘So I interviewed Ringan and Calder yesterday afternoon. They’ve both been charged. I also checked and Mrs Cafferty doesn’t have a driving licence, not under her married or her maiden name. Bone’s Mercedes belonged to-’

‘Big Ger Cafferty.’

‘You already knew?’

‘I guessed,’ said Rebus. ‘What about the other half of Bone’s business?’

‘Owned by a company called Geronimo Holdings.’

‘Which in turn is owned by Big Ger?’

‘And sweetly, the word Geronimo includes both his and his wife’s names. So what do you make of it?’

‘Looks to me like Ger probably won his half of the business in a bet with Bone.’

‘Either that,’ added Holmes, ‘or he got it in lieu of protection money Bone couldn’t afford.’

‘Maybe,’ said Rebus. ‘But the bet’s more likely.’

‘After all,’ said Siobhan, ‘Bone won the car in a bet with Cafferty. They’ve gambled together in the past.’

Rebus nodded. ‘Well, it all adds up to a tight connection between the two of them. And there’s a tighter connection too, though I can’t prove it just yet.’

‘Hang on,’ said Siobhan, ‘if the stabbing and the smashed window are to do with protection or gambling, then they’re to do with Cafferty. Which means, since Cafferty owns half the business, that Cafferty smashed his own window.’

Rebus was shaking his head. ‘I didn’t say they were to do with protection or gambling.’

‘And where does the cousin fit in?’ Holmes interrupted.

‘My my,’ commented Rebus, ‘you are keen to be back, aren’t you? I’m not sure exactly where Kintoul fits in, but I’m getting a fair idea.’

‘Hold on,’ said Holmes, ‘here we are.’

They all watched as a battered purple mini drove up to the taxi offices. When the driver’s door opened, the man mountain squeezed himself out.

‘Like toothpaste from the tube,’ said Rebus.

‘Christ,’ added Holmes, ‘he must’ve taken out the front seats.’

‘All alone today,’ Siobhan noted.

‘I’ll bet Cafferty drops in sometime, though,’ said Rebus, ‘just to check. He’s been ripped off badly in the past, he won’t want it happening again.’

‘Ripped off badly?’ Siobhan echoed. ‘How do you know that?’ Rebus winked at her. ‘It’s an odds-on bet,’ he said.

He had to wait till after lunch for the information he needed. He had it faxed to him at a local newsagent’s. During the long wait in Gorgie, he’d discussed the case with Holmes and Siobhan. They both were of the same mind in one particular: nobody would testify against Cafferty. And of like minds in another: they couldn’t even be sure Cafferty had anything to do with it.

‘I’ll find out this afternoon,’ Rebus told them, heading out to pick up the fax.

He was getting used to walking with the cane, and as long as he kept moving, the leg itself didn’t stiffen up. But he knew the drive to Cardenden wouldn’t do him much good. He considered the train, but ruled it out in short order. He might want to escape from Fife in a hurry; and Scotrail’s timetables just didn’t fit the bill.

It was just after two-thirty when he pushed open the door of Hutchy’s, betting shop. The place was airless, smelling old and undusted. The cigarette butts on the floor were probably last week’s. There was a two-thirty-five race, and a few punters lined the walls waiting for the commentary. Rebus didn’t let the look of the place put him off. Nobody wanted to bet in a plush establishment: it meant the bookie was making too much money. These tawdry surroundings were all psychology. You might not be winning, the bookmaker was saying, but look at me, I’m not doing any better.

Except that he was.