Black Book

was a knock at the Chief Super’s door.

‘Come!’ called Watson, John Rebus walked in and looked around admiringly at the sudden floorspace. ‘I see you got your cabinets, sir.’

Lauderdale pulled himself up straight. ‘What the hell are you doing here? You’re suspended from duty.’

‘It’s all right, Frank,’ said Watson, ‘I asked Inspector Rebus to come in.’ He turned the xeroxed pages towards Rebus. ‘Take a look.’

It didn’t take long. The problem with the code in the past was that they hadn’t known what to look for. But now Rebus had a more than fair idea. He stabbed one entry. ‘There,’ he said. ‘3TUB SCS.’

‘Yes?’

‘It means the butcher on South Clerk Street owes three thousand. He’s abbreviated ‘butcher’ and written it backwards.’

Lauderdale looked disbelieving. ‘Are you sure?’

Rebus shrugged. ‘Put the experts at Fettes onto it. They should be able to find at least a few more late- payers.’

‘Thank you, John,’ said Watson. Rebus turned smartly and left the room. Lauderdale stared at his superior.

‘I get the feeling,’ he said, ‘something’s going on here I don’t know about.’

‘Well, Frank,’ said Watson, ‘why should today be different from any other?’

Which, as the saying went, put CI Lauderdale’s gas at a very low peep.

It was Siobhan Clarke who came up with the most important piece of information in the whole case.

It was a case now. Rebus didn’t mind that the machine was in operation without him. Holmes and Clarke reported back to him at the end of each day. The code-breakers had been hard at work, as a result of which detectives were talking to Cafferty’s black book victims. It would only take one or two of them in court, and Cafferty would be going down. So far, though, no one was talking. Rebus had an idea of one person who, given enough persuasion, might.

Then Siobhan mentioned that Cafferty’s company Geronimo Holdings held a seventy-nine per cent share in a large farm in the south-west Borders, not so very far from the coastline where the bodies had been washing up until recently. A party was sent to the farm. They found plenty for the forensic scientists to start working o…especially the pigsties. The sties themselves were clean enough, but there was an enclosed area of storage space above each ramshackle sty. Most of the farm had turned itself over to the latest in high-tech agriculture; but not the sties. It was this which initially alerted the police. Above the pigsties, in the dark enclosures strewn with rank straw, there was a tangible reek of something unwholesome, something putrid. Strips of cloth were found; in one corner there lay a man’s trouser-belt. The area was photographed and picked over for its least congruous particles. Upstairs in the farmhouse, meanwhile, a man who claimed initially to be an agricultural labourer eventually admitted to being Derek Torrance, better known as Deek.

At the same time, Rebus was driving out to Dalkeith, to Duncton Terrace, to be precise. It was early evening, and the Kintoul family was at home. Mother, father and son took up three sides of a fold-down table in the kitchen. The chip-pan was still smouldering and spitting on the greasy gas cooker. The vinyl wallpaper was slick with condensation. Most of the food on the plates was disguised by brown sauce. Rebus could smell vinegar and washing-up liquid. Rory Kintoul excused himself and went with Rebus into the living room. Kitchen and living room were connected by a serving hatch. Rebus wondered if wife and son would be listening at the hatch.

Rebus sat in one fireside chair, Kintoul opposite him.

‘Sorry if it’s a bad time,’ Rebus began. There was a ritual to be followed, after all.

‘What is it, Inspector?’

‘You’ll have heard, Mr Kintoul, we’ve arrested Morris Cafferty. He’ll be going away for quite a while.’ Rebus looked at the photos on the mantelpiece, snapshots of gap-toothed kids, nephews and nieces. He smiled at them. ‘I just thought maybe it was time you got it off your chest.’

He kept silent for a moment, still examining the framed photos. Kintoul said nothing.

‘Only,’ said Rebus, ‘I know you’re a good man. I mean, a good man. You put family first, am I right?’ Kintoul nodded uncertainly. ‘Your wife and son, you’d do anything for them. Same goes for your other family, parents, sisters, brothers, cousin…’ Rebus trailed off.

‘I know Cafferty’s going away,’ said Kintoul.

‘And?’

Kintoul shrugged.

‘It’s like this,’ said Rebus. ‘We know just about all there is to know. We just need a little corroboration.’

‘That means testifying?’

Rebus nodded. Eddie Ringan would be testifying too, telling all he knew about the Central Hotel, in return for a good word from the police come his own trial. ‘Mr Kintoul, you’ve got to accept something. You’ve got to accept that you’ve changed, you’re not the same man you were a year or two ago. Why did you do it?’ Rebus asked the way a friend would, just curious.

Kintoul wiped a smear of sauce from his chin. ‘It was a favour. Jim always needed favours.’

‘So you drove the van?’

‘Yes, I did his rounds.’

‘But you were a lab technician!’

Kintoul smiled. ‘And I could earn more on the butcher’s round.’ He shrugged again. ‘Like you say, Inspector, I put family first, especially where money’s concerned.’

‘Go on.’

‘How much do you know?’

‘We know the van was used to dump the bodies.’

‘Nobody ever notices a butcher’s van.’

‘Except a poor constable in north-east Fife. He ended up with concussion.’

‘That was after my time. I was shot of it by then.’ He waited till Rebus nodded agreement, then went on. ‘Only, when I wanted out Cafferty didn’t want me out. He was putting pressure on.’

‘That’s how you got stabbed?’

‘It was that bodyguard of his, Jimmy the Ear. He lost the head. Knifed me as I was getting out of the car. Crazy bastard.’ Kintoul glanced towards the serving-hatch. ‘You know what Cafferty did when I said I wanted to stop driving the van? He offered Jason a job “driving” for him. Jason’s my son.’

Rebus nodded. ‘But why all this fuss? Cafferty could get a hundred guys to drive a van for him.’

‘I thought you knew him, Inspector. Cafferty’s like that. He’s.. particular about his flesh.’

‘He’s off his head,’ commented Rebus. ‘How did you get sucked in in the first place?’

‘I was still driving full-time when Cafferty won half the business from Jimmy. One evening, one of Cafferty’s men turned up all smarmy, told me we’d be taking a run to the coast early next morning. Via some farm in the Borders.’

‘You went to the farm?’ So that’s why there was straw in the van. The colour was seeping from Kintoul’s face like blood from a cut of meat.

‘Oh aye. There was something in the pigsties, tied up in fertiliser bags. Stank to high heaven. I’d been working in a butcher’s long enough to know it had been rotting in that sty for a good few weeks, months, even.’

‘A corpse?’

‘Easy to tell, isn’t it? I threw my guts up. Cafferty’s man said what a waste, I should’ve done it into the trough.’ Kintoul paused. He was still wiping at his chin, though the sauce mark had long ago been erased. ‘Cafferty liked the bodies to be rotten, less chance of them washing ashore in any recognisable state.’

‘Christ.’

‘I haven’t come to the worst part yet.’ In the next room, Kintoul’s wife and son were speaking in undertones. Rebus was in no hurry, and merely watched as Kintoul got up to stare from his back window. There was a patch of garden out there he could call his own. It was small, but it was his. He came back and stood in front of the gas fire, not looking at Rebus.

‘I was there one day when he killed someone,’ he said baldly. Then he screwed shut his eyes. Rebus was