Blood was rising to his face. `I've been working my arse off on this, John, you know I have. Now you don't trust me to do the job?’
`It's not like that, Bill.’
Rebus suddenly found himself on the defensive.
`Who've you got working for you, John?’
`Just people on the street.’
`Well-connected people by the sound of it.’
He paused. `Are we talking villains?’
`My daughter's in a coma, Bill.’
`I'm well aware of that. Now answer my question!' People around them were staring. Rebus lowered his voice. `Just a few of my grasses.’
`Then give me their names.’
`Come on, Bill…’
'Pryde's hands gripped the table. `These past days, I've been thinking you'd lost interest. Thinking maybe you didn't want an answer.’
He was thoughtful. `You wouldn't go to Telford… Cafferty?’
His eyes widened. `Is that it, John?’
Rebus turned his head away.
`Christ, John… what's the deal here? He hands over the driver, what do you hand him?’
'It's not like that.’
`I can't believe you'd trust Cafferty. You put him away, for Christ's sake!' `It's not a question of trust.’
But Pryde was shaking his head. `There's a line we don't cross.’
`Get a grip, Bill. There's no line.’
Rebus spread his arms. `If there is, show me it.’
Pryde tapped his forehead. `It's up here.’
`Then it's a fiction.’
`You really believe that?’
Rebus sought an answer, slumped against the desk, ran his hands over his head. He remembered something Lintz had once said: when me stop believing in God, me don't suddenly believe in 'nothing'… me believe anything.
`John?’ someone called. `Phone call.’
Rebus stared at Pryde. `Later,' he said. He walked across to another desk, took the call.
`Rebus here.’
`It's Bobby.’
Bobby Hogan.
`What can I do for you, Bobby?’
`For a start, you can help get that Special Branch arsehole off my back.’
'Abernethy?’
`He won't leave me alone.’
`Keeps phoning you?’
`Christ, John, aren't you listening? He's here.’
`When did he get in?’
`He never went away.’
`Whoah, hold on.’
`And he's driving me round the twist. He says he knows you from way back, so how about having a word?’
`Are you at Leith?’
`Where else?’
`I'll be there in twenty minutes.’
`I got so pissed off, I went to my boss – and that's something I seldom have to resort to.’
Bobby Hogan was drinking coffee like it was something best taken intravenously. The top button of his shirt was undone, tie hanging loose.
`Only,' he went on, `his boss had a word with my boss's boss, and I ended up with a warning: co-operate or else.’
`Meaning?’
`I wasn't to tell anyone he was still around.’
`Thanks, pal. So what's he actually doing?’
`What isn't he doing? He wants to be in on any interviews. He wants copies of tapes and transcripts. He wants to see all the paperwork, wants to know what I'm planning to do next, what I had for breakfast…’
`I don't suppose he's managing to be helpful in any shape or form?’
Hogan's look gave Rebus his answer.
`I don't mind him taking an interest, but this verges on the obstructive. He's slowing the case to a dead stop.’
`Maybe that's his plan.’
Hogan looked up from his cup. `I don't get it.’
`Neither do I. Look, if he's being obstructive, let's put on a show, see how he reacts.’
`What sort of show?’
`What time will he be in?’
Hogan checked his watch. `Half an hour or so. That's when my work stops for the day, while I fill him in.’
`Half an hour's enough. Mind if I use your phone?’
29
When Abernethy arrived, he didn't manage not to look surprised. The space put aside for the investigation Hogan's space – now contained three bodies, and they were working at the devil's own pace.
Hogan was on the telephone to a librarian. He was asking for a run-down of books and articles about `the Rat Line'. Rebus was sorting through paperwork, putting it in order, cross-referencing, laying aside anything he didn't think useful. And Siobhan Clarke was there, too. She appeared to be on the phone to some Jewish organisation, and was asking them about lists of war criminals. Rebus nodded towards Abernethy, but kept on working.
`What's going on?’ Abernethy asked, taking off his raincoat.
`Helping out. Bobby's got so many leads to work on…’
He nodded towards Siobhan. `And Crime Squad are interested, too.’
`Since when?’
Rebus waved a piece of paper. `This might be bigger than we think.’
Abernethy locked around. He wanted to speak to Hogan, but Hogan was still on the phone. Rebus was the only one with time to talk.
Which was just the way Rebus had planned it.
He'd only had five minutes in which to brief Siobhan, but she was a born actress, even holding a conversation with the dialling tone. Hogan's fantasy librarian, meantime, was asking him all the right questions. And Abernethy was looking glazed.
`What do you mean?’
`In fact,' Rebus said, putting down a file, `you might be able to help.’
`How?’
`You're Special Branch, and Special Branch has access to the secret services.’
Rebus paused. `Right?’
Abernethy licked his lips and shrugged.
`See,' Rebus went on, `we're beginning to wonder something. There could be a dozen reasons why someone would want to kill Joseph Lintz, but the one we've been practically ignoring' (ignoring at Abernethy's suggestion, according to Hogan) `is the one that just might provide the answer. I'm talking about the Rat Line. What if Lintz's murder had something to do with that?’
`How could it?’
It was Rebus's turn to shrug. `That's why we need your help. We need any and all information we can get on the Rat Line.’
`But it never existed.’
`Funny, a lot of books seem to say it did.’
`They're wrong.’
`Then there are all these survivors… except they haven't survived. Suicides, car crashes, a fall from a window. Lintz is just one of along line of dead men.’
Siobhan Clarke and Bobby Hogan had finished their calls and were listening.
`You're climbing the wrong tree,' Abernethy said.
`Well, you know, if you're in a forest, climbing any tree will give you a better view.’
`There is no Rat Line.’
`You're an expert?’
`I've been collating…’
`Yes, yes, all the investigations. And how far have you got? Is any one of them going to make it to trial?’
`It's too early to tell.’
`And soon it may be too late. These men aren't getting any younger. I've seen the same thing all around Europe: delay the trial until the defendants are so old they snuff it or go doolally. Result's the same: no trial.’
`Look, this has nothing to do with…’
`Why are you here, Abernethy? Why did you come up that time to speak to Lintz?’
`Look, Rebus, it's not…’
`If you can't tell us, talk to your boss. Get him to do it. Otherwise, the way we're digging, we're bound to throw up an old bone sooner or later.’
Abernethy stood back a pace. `I think I get it,' he said. And he began to smile. `You're trying to stiff me.’
He was looking at Hogan. `That's what this is.’
`Not at all,' Rebus answered. `What I'm saying is: we'll redouble our efforts. We'll sniff into every little corner. The Rat Line, the Vatican, turning Nazis into cold war spies for the allies… it could all count as evidence. The other men on your list, the other suspects… we'll need to talk to all of them, see if they knew Joseph Lintz. Maybe they met him on the trip over.’
Abernethy was shaking his head. `I'm not going to let you do that.’
`You're going to obstruct the investigation?’
`That's not what I said.’
`No, but it's what you'll do.’
Rebus paused. `If you think we're climbing the wrong tree – and, incidentally, that should be barking up – go ahead and prove it. Give us everything you've got on Lintz's past.’