‘Well, I’ve been brought here so you can work on me.’
‘What?’
‘You’re going to warn me off again, and I’ll be so impressed by the surroundings and the company, I’ll fall to my knees and plead forgiveness.’
Gunner gave him a blazing look. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘In that case, what are
‘I’m in the dark. First time I’ve been invited. Maybe Sir Iain wants to get to know me. He’s a canny diplomat, as well as being a manipulator.’ Gunner paused. ‘The chief constable will be retiring soon.’
‘Bit young for that, isn’t he?’
‘His wife’s ill, she needs looking after.’
‘So you’ll be promoted?’
‘I assume so.’
‘Always supposing you’re given a clean bill of health.’
‘What?’
‘By HMIC, for example. That kind of threat works both ways, Allan.’
Gunner narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Shug McAnally kills himself. I try to find out why. Turns out he’s recently been sharing a cell with a man called Charters. This despite the fact McAnally’s in for a sex attack. Only, none of the other inmates knows that.’
‘I still don’t see what you’re getting at.’
‘Yes you do. McAnally was Alister Flower’s grass. Flower worked under you on the case against Charters. McAnally was put in Charters’ cell to see what he could glean. Now, Flower hasn’t got the weight to set up something like that; it’d need someone more senior to have a word with Big Jim Flett — someone like yourself, sir.’ Gunner kept his eyes on the ground and said nothing. ‘And now,’ Rebus went on, ‘I’ve got the likes of Hunter warning me off, too.’
Gunner looked up at the knot of men ahead. They were picking their way over fallen branches and through stunted undergrowth between mature trees.
‘I want us to talk,’ he said.
‘Fine.’
‘But not here.’
Sir Iain had stopped and was gesturing. ‘Come on, slowcoaches! I’ve got one good leg and I’m still beating you.’ He waited for them to join him.
‘How much land have you got here, Sir lain?’ Gunner asked, suddenly the well-mannered guest.
‘A hundred and seventy acres, but don’t worry, we’re not walking all of it.’
Soon they broke out of the woods into a rutted field of stubble. By the side of the field was a track just wide enough for the vehicle that sat there, a venerable Land Rover the same olive green as their jackets. The servant was at the back of the vehicle, unpacking a large wicker hamper. There was another man halfway across the field, standing beside some apparatus Rebus took to be the clay-pigeon release.
Rebus ended up standing next to the Secretary of State. The man didn’t seem inclined to speak. Rebus wondered what he’d been discussing with Robbie Mathieson in the morning room. Rebus turned to Mathieson.
‘A friend of mine works for one of your suppliers.’
‘Oh?’ Mathieson didn’t sound particularly interested.
‘Deltona,’ Rebus said.
Mathieson’s beard moved in what might have been a smile. ‘Then I hope he didn’t have plans this weekend. I’ve been promised that plant will work all weekend. I’m due a big order from them by midweek. I wouldn’t want to have to find a new supplier.’
‘How’s the work on LABarum progressing?’ Mathieson stared at him, then fed cartridges into the shotgun’s double chamber. ‘It’s going pretty well,’ he said. ‘Can I ask how you know about it?’
Rebus shrugged. ‘Word gets around.’
‘Does it?’ Mathieson snapped shut the gun.
‘Actually, I came across a copy of your business plan in a council house in Stenhouse.’
‘What was it doing there?’ Mathieson seemed calm enough.
‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ Rebus told him. ‘Someone had scrawled the word “Dalgety” on it.’ Mathieson flinched and dropped a cartridge.
‘Pull!’ Sir Iain called. A clay disc sprang into the air. There was an explosion, then another, and the disc shattered. Sir lain broke open his gun.
‘Damned good shot,’ commented Sir Colin Macrae.
‘You know, it’s unusual. Sir Iain’s Saturdays are normally corporate affairs, but today we’ve got two policemen.’ Mathieson looked like he wanted Rebus to tell him something, but Rebus didn’t know what.
‘Pull!’ More gunshots filled the air.
‘Not bad, Dugald, not bad!’
‘Tell me,’ Rebus asked Mathieson, ‘do you know a man called Derwood Charters?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I’ve heard he helped finance PanoTech in the early days.’
Mathieson laughed. ‘You’re misinformed.’
‘Come on, Allan, you’re next!’
When Robbie Mathieson’s turn came, he missed the target with both barrels.
‘Not like you, Robbie,’ Sir lain laughed, glancing towards Rebus. He looked uncommonly pleased. Rebus felt he was being used; he still didn’t know why or how.
When his own turn came to shoot, he missed with both barrels. Sir lain insisted he try again straight away.
‘You’re a tyro,’ he said, ‘you need the practice. I’m sure we all missed a few in the beginning.’
This time, Rebus chipped a bit off the disc with his second shot.
‘See?’ said Sir Iain. ‘Now you’re getting the hang of it!’
Maybe he was at that.
Ears still ringing, Rebus joined the others at the Land Rover. There were flasks of Scotch broth, sandwiches in silver foil, hip-flasks of whisky and larger flasks of tea. Rebus’s sandwich was brown bread and smoked salmon. The salmon was sliced thick, and had been sprinkled with lemon juice and pepper. He took a small nip of whisky when the hip-flask came round, then drank two mugs of strong tea. With all the games he felt were going on, he wanted to clear his head. He wasn’t sure if he was a player, a counter, or the die. He’d been shown one thing, though — the game was dangerous, at stake his professional career, which was everything he lived for. Practically every man present had it within his power to push Rebus off the playing-board and off the force. He started to get angry: angry with himself for coming; angry with Sir Iain Hunter — so smug, so manipulative — for bringing him here. Rebus knew now that he hadn’t just been brought here so he could be warned off. He swallowed the anger down and held it in his gut. It was hotter than tea, stronger than whisky.
They were almost back at the house when Sir Iain gripped Rebus’s elbow and led him towards the greenhouses.
‘We’ll catch you up!’ he called to the others. Then, to Rebus, still holding him by the elbow: ‘Have a nice chat with Robbie Mathieson?’ Rebus shrugged off Sir Iain’s hand. ‘And with Allan Gunner too, I noticed.’
‘Why am I here?’
‘I admire your directness. You’re here because I want to know if you’ve decided.’
‘Decided what?’
‘To stop your investigation.’
‘Are you willing to tell me why you’re so interested?’
Sir Iain’s gaze hardened. ‘I’m willing to tell you one thing,
They were standing in front of one of the long greenhouses. Looking through the misted windows, Rebus could see trestle tables and empty flower-pots and seed-trays, but there was nothing growing in there, nothing at
