Let It Bleed

all.

‘I’m listening,’ he said.

‘Then I’ll tell you that Scottish jobs are at risk.’

‘At risk from what?’

‘From you, Inspector, if you continue stumbling blindly around. Let it take its course, that’s what I’m saying.’

Rebus turned to him. ‘Let what take its course? You’re not telling me anything, how am I supposed to know what to do and what not to do?’

‘You know what to do,’ Hunter said calmly: ‘stop your little private investigation. If it goes any further, hundreds of jobs could disappear. Do you hear me? Hundreds. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, I’m sure.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Rebus said.

Hunter looked at him with something near pity. ‘Yes, you do, Inspector.’

He did, too. It was in Hunter’s voice, in the way his frame shivered when he spoke. He believed what he was saying, believed it with a passion. Hundreds of jobs.

Sir lain started to walk towards the house. Rebus followed, making sure he never caught up.

As agreed, Rebus and Gunner left the house separately but met up at a hotel in Auchterarder.

‘I don’t usually drink,’ Gunner confided, washing down two aspirin with an orange juice. They sat in a corner of the quiet lounge bar. For a Saturday, the main street was quiet. The shoppers would all be in Perth, keeping warm in department stores and superstores. The TV was showing Rio Bravo, John Wayne doing his John Wayne walk.

‘I don’t usually shoot,’ Rebus said.

‘So now we’ve both seen how the other half lives.’ Gunner put down his glass and took a deep breath. ‘Let’s get down to business. Whatever you think, Inspector, I wasn’t there to “scare you off”. I got my invite in the mail, same as you did. I’ve been thinking, and my conclusion is that Sir lain wanted to play us off against one another. Or perhaps he thought that my presence would serve to unnerve you.’

Rebus nodded agreement. ‘One other option,’ he added. ‘We were both there to scare someone else. Mathieson didn’t like it that policemen were present.’

‘What are they so worried about?’

‘Hunter told me it has to do with jobs.’

‘Jobs? What kind of jobs?’

Rebus shook his head. How far could he trust Gunner? The man was the first person who’d tried to take him out of the game. ‘Are you going to own up about McAnally?’

Gunner examined his fingernails. ‘You’re right in just about every detail. I had McAnally moved to Saughton and into Charters’ cell. Then he went and got cancer, and wasn’t getting any information out of Charters, so I arranged for his early release.’

‘And he went straight to Councillor Gillespie and blew his head off in front of him.’

‘I don’t know why he did that.’

‘Why was McAnally in Charters’ cell?’

‘To see if he could talk himself into Charters’ confidence. I wanted to see what Charters was hiding. I knew he was hiding something, but couldn’t think what to do about it until Flower suggested McAnally.’

‘And what is Charters hiding exactly?’

‘Money, what else? I don’t mean he’s hiding it literally, though perhaps he is. But back in the mid-eighties he was coining it, and we weren’t sure where the cash was coming from. He had about half a dozen companies — legit, as far as the Fraud Unit could tell — but they made more money than they should have.’

‘I thought that’s what Thatcherism was all about. Was one of his companies called Mensung?’

‘Yes.’

‘And were all his companies involved in retraining?’

‘That sort of thing. Their paperwork was so convoluted — positively labyrinthine — that even our specialists couldn’t find a clear path through it. They were all agreed on one thing. Derry Charters had a genius for muddying the water. You could track a company of his for months and not get to the bottom of its financial status.’

‘I’ve heard he helped finance PanoTech at one time.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Is it true?’

‘I don’t think so. Did one of Charters’ investors tell you?’ Rebus nodded. ‘Probably a story he spun them. He could be very persuasive.’

‘But all this was eight, nine years ago.’

‘Yes, and since then he’s cleaned up his act, or had done until he burnt people’s fingers with Albavise.’

‘So why are you still chasing him over a piece of ancient history?’

‘A couple of reasons. One, I spent a lot of my time and effort in the Fraud Unit chasing him, without getting a result. It represents probably the only blot on my record. Two, our best guess when we investigated him was that he was fiddling millions.’ He had Rebus’s full attention. ‘Millions,’ he repeated. ‘And for me, that makes him worth the chase.’

‘Where did he fiddle these millions from?’

But Gunner just shrugged. Rebus was thoughtful for a moment. The bar was filling, and the TV had been switched over to show the football scores. Not that many games were being played: the pitches were dangerously hard.

‘I’ve read the case against him on Albavise. Any chance that I can see the other paperwork?’

Gunner studied him. ‘There’s a hell of a lot, and it’s in no particular order. You think you can spot something our financial gurus couldn’t?’

Rebus shrugged. ‘Just for my peace of mind. I’d like to talk to Charters, too.’

‘What?’

‘His cellmate’s committed suicide. It looks strange if nobody’s been near to ask him about McAnally’s state of mind prior to release. I mean, who’d know better than him?’

Gunner nodded. ‘Fair point.’

‘Speaking of McAnally, how much did you pay him?’

‘What?’

‘He was working for you, feeding you information, I’m assuming he was paid.’

‘He didn’t give us anything of relevance. We gave him a few pounds here and there, nothing more.’ Rebus was seeing Tresa McAnally’s flat in his mind: new door, new decor, new TV. ‘Does it matter?’

‘It did to Wee Shug,’ Rebus said quietly. Someone had given him the money, money he’d passed on to Tresa, almost like life insurance. Who did Wee Shug know with money apart from his cellmate?

Gunner finished his drink. ‘I wonder what Sir Iain will be up to tonight.’

‘The way he was tucking into the hooch, sleeping it off, I’d imagine. Does he drive to Edinburgh and back every day?’

‘He only uses Ruthie at weekends. When he’s at work, he has a flat in the New Town.’

‘Whereabouts exactly?’

‘Royal Circus, I think.’

Royal Circus, thought Rebus, where Haldayne collected some of his parking tickets. Life was just full of coincidences, if you happened to believe, as Rebus himself did not, in coincidence.

31

Early Sunday morning, a sleepy-eyed detective sergeant from Lothian & Borders Police Headquarters turned up at Rebus’s flat.

‘You’d better give me a hand,’ he said.

Rebus followed him down to where a patrol car idled kerbside. He peered in through the passenger side