A public execution, in Tommy Telford's heartland.
The two victims: known money-lenders. The one in hospital was called `Wee' Stevie Murray, age twenty-two. The one in the mortuary was Donny Draper – known since childhood as `Curtains'. They'd be making jokes about that. Curtains was two weeks shy of his twenty-fifth birthday. Rebus hoped he'd made the most of his short time on the planet.
Paisley police knew about Telford's move to Edinburgh, knew there were some problems there. A courtesy call had been placed to Chief Superintendent Watson.
The caller said: the men were two of Telford's brightest and best. The caller said: descriptions of the attackers were vague.
The caller said: the children weren't talking. They were being shielded by their parents, fearful of reprisals. Well, they might not be talking to the police, but Rebus doubted they'd be so reticent when Tommy Telford came calling, armed with his own questions and determined to have answers.
This was bad. This was escalation. Fire-bombings and beatings: these could be remedied. But murder… murder put the grudgematch on to a much higher plane.
`Is it worth talking to them again?’ Gill Tempter asked. They were in the canteen, sandwiches untouched in front of them.
`What do you think?’
He knew what she thought. She was talking because she thought talking was better than doing nothing. He could have told her to save her breath.
`They used a machete,' he said.
`Same thing they took to Danny Simpson's scalp.’
Rebus nodded. `I've got to ask…’ she said.
`What?’
`About Lintz… what you said?’
He drained the last inch of his cold coffee. `Fancy another?’
`John…’
He looked at her. 'Lintz had some phone calls he was trying to hide. One of them was to Tommy Telford's office in Flint Street. We don't know how it ties in, but we think it does tie in.’
`What could Lintz and Telford have had in common?’
`Maybe Lintz went to him for help. Maybe he rented prossies off him. Like I say, we don't know. Which is why we're keeping it under the table.’
`You want Telford very badly, don't you?’
Rebus stared at her, thought about it. `Not as much as I did. He's not enough any more.’
`You want Cafferty, too?’
`And Tarawicz… and the Yakuza… and anybody else who's along for the ride.’
She nodded. `This is the party you were talking about?’
He tapped his head. 'They're all in here, Gill. I've tried kicking them out, but they won't leave.’
`Maybe if you stopped playing their kind of music?’
He smiled tiredly. `Now there's an idea. What do you reckon: ELP? The Enid? How about a Yes triple album?’
`Your department, not mine, thank God.’
`You don't know what you're missing.’
`Yes, I do: I was there first time round.’
Old Scottish proverb: he who has had knuckles rapped will want to rap someone else's. Which is why Rebus found himself back in Watson's office. The Farmer's cheeks were still red from his meeting with the Chief Constable. When Rebus made to sit, Watson told him to get back on his feet.
`You'll sit when you're told and not before.’
`Thank you, sir.’
`What the bloody hell's going on, John?’
`Pardon, sir?’
The Farmer looked at the note Rebus had left on his desk. `What's this?’
`One dead, one seriously wounded in Paisley, sir. Telford's men. Cafferty's hitting him where it hurts. Probably reckons that Telford's territory's spun a bit thin. Leaves him open to breaches.’
`Paisley.’
The Farmer stuffed the note in his drawer. `Not our problem.’
`It will be, sir. When Telford hits back, it'll be right here.’
`Never mind that, Inspector. Let's talk about Maclean's Pharmaceuticals.’
Rebus blinked, relaxed his shoulders. `I was going to tell you, sir.’
`But instead I had to hear it from the Chief Constable?’
`Not really my baby, sir. Crime Squad are pushing the pram.’
`But who put the baby in the pram?’
`I was going to tell you, sir.’
`Know how it makes me look? I walk into Fettes and I don't know something one of my junior officers knows? I look like a mug.’
`With respect, sir, I'm sure that's not the case.’
`I look like a mug!' The Farmer slammed the desk with both palms. `And it's not as though this was the first time. I've always tried to do my best for you, you know that.’
`Yes, sir.’
`Always been fair.’
`Absolutely, sir.’
`And you pay me back like this?’
`It won't happen again, sir.’
The Farmer stared at him; Rebus held it, returned it.
`I bloody well hope not.’
The Farmer leaned back in his chair. He'd calmed down a little. Bollocking as therapy. `Nothing else you want to tell me, is there, while I've got you here?’
`No, sir. Except… well…’
`Go on.’
The Farmer sat forward again.
`It's the man in the flat above me, sir,' Rebus said. `I think he might be Lord Lucan.’
27
Leonard Cohen: `There is a War'.
They were waiting for Telford's retaliatory strike. The Chief Constable's idea: `visible presence as deterrent'. It came as no surprise to Rebus: probably even less so to Telford, who had Charles Groal ready, claiming harassment the minute the patrol cars turned up in Flint Street. How was his client supposed to carry on with his legitimate and substantial business interests, as well as his many community developments, under the pressure of unwarranted and intrusive police surveillance? `Community developments' meaning the pensioners and their rent-free flats: Telford wouldn't hesitate to use them as pawns. The media would love it.
The patrol cars would be pulled, it was just a matter of time. And afterwards: firework night all over again: That's what everyone was expecting.
Rebus went to the hospital, sat with Rhona. The room, so familiar to him now, was an oasis where calm and order reigned, where each hour of the day brought its comforting rituals.
`They've washed her hair,' he said.
`She's had another scan,' Rhona explained. `They had to get the gunk off afterwards.’
Rebus nodded. `They said you'd noticed eye movement?’
`I thought I did.’
Rhona douched his arm. 'Jackie says he might manage to come up again at the weekend. Call this fair warning.’
`Received and understood.’
`You look tired.’
He smiled. `One of these days someone's going to tell me how terrific I'm looking.’
`But not today,' Rhona said.
`Must be all the booze, clubbing and women.’
Thinking: Coke, the Morvena Casino, and Candice.
Thinking: why do I feel like piggy in the middle? Are Cafferty and Telford both playing games with me? Thinking: I hope Jack Morton's okay.
The phone was ringing when he got back to Arden Street. He picked up just as the answering machine was cutting in.
`Hold on till I stop this thing.’
Found the right button and hit it.
`Technology, eh, Strawman?’
Cafferty.
`What do you want?’
`I've heard about Paisley.’
`You mean you've been talking to yourself?’
`I had nothing to do with it.’
Rebus laughed out loud.
`I'm telling you.’
Rebus fell into his chair. `And I'm supposed to believe you?’
Games, he was thinking.
`Whether you believe me or not, I wanted you to know.’
`Thanks, I'm sure I'll sleep better for that.’
`I'm being set up, Strawman.’
`Telford doesn't need to set you up.’
Rebus sighed, stretched his neck to left and right. `Look, have you considered another possibility?’
`What?’
`Your men have lost it. They're going behind your back.’
`I'd know.’
`You'd know what your own lieutenants tell you. What if they're lying? I'm not saying it's the whole gang, could be just two or three gone rogue.’
`I'd know.’