‘Plus caramel wafers.’
‘I love it when you talk dirty, Mark,’ Briggs said with a grin.
Hodges was parked in the interview room when Alvin James got back. Clarke had gone with Briggs to pick him up.
‘I’m glad you came,’ Briggs had said at one point. ‘These streets are a bloody maze.’
‘Local knowledge is a wonderful thing, Anne.’
A sentiment Alvin James repeated almost word for word after Clarke had explained how she’d recognised Hodges. He even clasped her hand and gave it a shake.
‘Malcolm was right to sing your praises,’ he said. Then, looking around: ‘Where is he anyway?’
‘Nobody knows,’ Briggs piped up.
James fastened his eyes on Clarke again. ‘Well, since you’re here and acquainted with the gentleman …’
‘Happy to oblige,’ Clarke said, following him to the interview room.
Hodges didn’t look happy. He’d been stewing for the best part of an hour, and the club would be opening for evening business soon. Nobody had thought to tell him why he had been picked up. James dragged out the chair opposite and sat down, holding the photo so Hodges could see it.
‘And?’ Hodges said.
‘It’s you,’ James stated.
‘What if it is?’
‘Outside the Tomahawk Club, just off Lothian Road. Two Saturdays back.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Oh, it’s you all right, you and your mates having words with the doorman because he refused you entry.’
‘Is that what he says?’
‘It’s what one of his colleagues says. The man in the photo isn’t saying anything, Mr Hodges. Someone went after him and killed him. Big fit man he was, too, so we’re thinking maybe more than one assailant.’ James tapped the photo. ‘There are four of you here. Care to name the others, or do we find out the hard way?’
‘Did I hear you right? He’s dead? Rab’s dead?’ Hodges’ eyes had widened. ‘We used him at the club a few times ourselves. Just once or twice.’
‘You knew him?’
‘Hardly.’
‘But he was a bouncer at the Devil’s Dram?’ Clarke asked.
‘Just when we were short of a body. On the really busy nights – like the night you were there.’ Hodges fixed Clarke with a look.
‘If you knew him,’ James asked quietly, ‘what was the argument for?’
‘I’d stopped a bit further back along the pavement – had to make a call. The others are that bit younger, but they all had ID. Rab wasn’t convinced, said two could go in but not Cal. Words were being exchanged when I arrived, but it all calmed down.’
‘One of you – at least one of you – threatened to kill him.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ Hodges said with a shake of the head.
‘Quite an unusual name, Cal,’ Clarke interrupted. ‘Bit of a coincidence that your employer has a brother called that. And I’m thinking Cal Christie wouldn’t quite be eighteen yet.’ She pretended to study the photos. ‘Darryl had sent you out to babysit him, is that it? Him and a couple of pals and their fake IDs?’
Hodges glared at her. ‘You’ve lost me again.’
‘Let’s go talk to Darryl then.’ Clarke checked the time on her phone. ‘Cal’s probably home from college by now, too. We’ll take the security footage to show them. I’ll tell you something, though, Harry – Darryl’s not going to be happy with you. He’s not going to be happy at all.’
She knew she had got through to him when his shoulders sagged. He spoke with his chin tucked in against his chest. ‘Is there another option?’
‘You give us the other names so we can talk to all of them. Then, when we go to Darryl’s house, we keep your name out of it – we tell him it was Cal we recognised.’
‘He’ll still know I was there.’
‘You asked for options,’ James stressed. ‘That’s what’s on the table.’
Hodges thought for a few more seconds, then nodded.
‘Let me fetch my pad for those names,’ James said, exiting the room.
‘One more thing, Harry,’ Clarke said, once the coast was clear. ‘That photo really does come out of the gents’ toilet tonight. If it doesn’t, I tell Darryl how wonderfully cooperative you were when you grassed up his little brother. You got that?’
‘Got it, bitch.’
‘Good,’ said Clarke, as James walked back through the open door.
15
She was locking up for the evening when they arrived.
‘Molly?’ Fox asked, holding out his warrant card. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your surname.’
‘Sewell,’ she told him. ‘Do you want to come in?’
‘Thank you.’
She unlocked the door again and they followed her inside. She cancelled the alarm and switched on the lights. A small, tasteful waiting room led to a smaller office with no natural light.
‘This is where you work?’ Fox enquired.
‘That’s right.’
‘And Mr Brough?’
‘To the left as you come in the main door.’
‘Mind if we take a look?’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Just want to be sure he’s not hiding in one of the filing cabinets.’ Fox tried to make it sound like a joke, but her oval face had grown stony. Rebus reckoned she was in her early thirties. Cropped black hair and bright red lipstick. Elfin was the word that came to his mind, but there was a toughness to her, too.
‘You better tell me what this is about,’ she said coolly, sitting down behind her desk. There was one chair for visitors, but Rebus and Fox stayed on their feet.
‘Do you know the whereabouts of Anthony Brough, Ms Sewell?’
‘No.’
‘When was the last time you spoke?’
She had begun to tidy the surface of her already tidied desk, moving a stapler, a box of paper clips and a pen. ‘About a week ago.’
‘In person or by phone?’
‘It was a text actually. He wasn’t feeling great and wanted to cancel his morning meetings.’
‘And since then?’
‘I’ve texted and phoned, left messages …’
‘Where does he live?’
‘Ann Street.’
‘Very nice, too. Does he have a partner?’
‘Here, you mean?’
‘In his personal life.’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Big houses on that street – he must rattle around a bit.’
‘If you say so.’
‘You’re not worried about him?’
‘It’s only been a few days.’
‘All the same …’
She sighed and looked up from her desk, blinking back tears. ‘Of course I’m worried. I went to the house, but there was no one home.’
‘If he wasn’t well, he probably wouldn’t have gone far,’ Rebus commented.
‘I put a note through his door, but he still didn’t call.’
‘How well can you manage without him?’ Fox asked.
‘The paperwork is fine. I’ve rescheduled his meetings.’ She looked around her. ‘He’s not here to sign cheques, but other than that …’
‘How is business anyway?’
‘Thriving.’
‘That’s not quite what we hear, Ms Sewell.’
‘Then you’re talking to the wrong people.’
‘Do you know a gentleman called Darryl Christie?’
‘Should I?’
‘He’s either a client or an associate of Mr Brough’s – so yes, I’d say you should know him.’
‘Well, I don’t.’
‘How about a flat on Great Junction Street, above a betting shop called Klondyke Alley?’
She shook her head. ‘You’ve still not told me why you’re here.’
‘A few days after your boss went missing, someone attacked Darryl Christie.’
She gave a snort. ‘Anthony would never do anything like that.’
‘You’re sure?’
r /> ‘It’s preposterous. I doubt Anthony’s been in a fight since he left school.’
‘How long have you known him?’
She glowered at Rebus. ‘Long enough.’
‘You must be about the same age as him – you didn’t go to school together or anything?’
‘Anthony was educated privately. I went to Boroughmuir.’ She paused. ‘And he’s six years older than me.’
Rebus smiled an apology.
‘It seems to me,’ Fox said, ‘that you know him and care about him. We think he’s in some kind of trouble, Ms Sewell, and we want to help. So if you do know anything, this is your chance.’ He paused to let his words sink in, handing her his business card.
She glanced at it. ‘I don’t think I saw your ID,’ she said to Rebus.
‘I don’t have any on me.’
‘Not a police officer then? HMRC? FCA?’
‘Expecting a visit, are you?’
She ignored him and opened a drawer instead, dropping the card into it. ‘I’d like to go home now, if that’s all right with you.’
‘Have you considered reporting him as a missing person?’ Fox asked, as she started getting to her feet and buttoning her short woollen coat.
‘If I don’t hear from him in the next few days.’
‘I’m assuming this is out of character for Mr Brough?’
‘He has been known to take a notion – London for the night, a horse race in France …’
‘He’s a betting man, then?’
‘That’s something you’d have to ask him.’
‘We will – if and when he turns up.’
‘You really can’t think anything’s happened to him? Anything serious, I mean?’
‘If he’s had a falling-out with Darryl Christie,’ Rebus said, ‘it’s entirely possible. Something you’d do well to bear in mind.’
They waited while she turned off the lights again and set the alarm. Rebus reckoned he knew which door must be Brough’s office, so he tried it, but it was locked.
‘Maybe bring a warrant next time,’ Sewell told him.
‘I’ll be sure to,’ he said.
Clarke had guessed that Darryl would have moved his mother and brothers into the boutique hotel he owned on one of the New Town’s steep north–south streets. She explained as much to Alvin James, but when they got there the front desk denied any knowledge.
‘We’re police, remember,’ Clarke told the fashion model who seemed to have ended up working as a receptionist. ‘I know Darryl has to be cagey, but not with us.’
‘They’re really not here – both floors are closed for renovations.’
And sure enough, the carpet leading to the staircase had been covered with clear polythene, as had the staircase itself.
‘Sorry about that,’ Clarke apologised as she marched back out to her car.
‘Not your fault, Siobhan,’ James said. ‘If you’d phoned and been given that story, you’d still have felt the need to come see for yourself.’
She glanced at him. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Any good detective would do the same. Where to now?’
‘Darryl’s house, maybe. It’s five minutes away.’
‘Lead on, then.’
She took him the long way round, so he could take in the Botanic Gardens and Inverleith Park. He gazed at the imposing detached stone houses.
‘Could I get one of these on a CID wage?’ he asked.
‘Not even if you were Chief Constable.’
They parked on the street and got out. There were no cars in the driveway. ‘I don’t see his Range Rover,’ Clarke said, preparing James for another dead end. But when she rang the doorbell, she could hear a noise from inside. The door opened and Gail McKie stood there. While Clarke was trying to hide her surprise, James asked if Cal was home.
‘What’s the story now?’ McKie demanded.
‘Just a couple of questions.’
‘I’ve already told you he didn’t see anything.’
James looked puzzled. ‘She means the attack on Darryl,’ Clarke explained.
‘We’d still like to talk with him,’ James nudged.
‘With me in the room?’ McKie paused. ‘Or our solicitor?’
‘You’re free to sit in, Ms McKie,’ James decided. ‘Though Cal might not be too thrilled …’
They waited in the chintzy living room while she went upstairs to fetch Cal. He walked in looking sulky, shoulders hunched, avoiding eye contact. His black spiky hair looked dyed, and there were acne scars on his cheeks.
‘Didn’t see nothing,’ he stated without preamble. ‘Got nothing to say.’ He dumped himself on one of the chairs, fingers gripping the armrests.
‘That’s not why we’re here,’ James said. Like Clarke, he had remained on his feet. McKie had lowered herself on to the sofa, curling her legs under her, staring hard at the two detectives. ‘We’re here about the Tomahawk Club. The night you and your pals were refused entry.’
Cal was trying to stop his face from reddening as his mother turned her gaze on him.
‘What’s this?’ she asked.
‘They’re lying,’ he spluttered.
James eased the CCTV prints from his pocket. ‘We have evidence to the contrary. We already know one name – a Mr Hodges – but we need the other two.’
‘Why?’
‘Because a threat was made to the doorman, Ms McKie. Rather a serious threat.’
‘By you?’ Her eyes were drilling into her son. He shook his head.
‘It was Dandy,’ he said.
‘I thought I’d told you to stop hanging around with that toerag!’
Cal squirmed.
‘He’s nothing but trouble – always has been!’
‘Can I assume Dandy is a nickname of some kind?’ Clarke interrupted.
‘His name’s Daniel Reynolds. Lives in Lochend. He used to go to school with Cal.’
‘Dandy’s all right,’ Cal added.
‘He threatened to kill the doorman?’ James asked.
Cal squirmed some more. ‘He might’ve said he’d be back to cut him. He was just acting up – putting on a show.’
‘There was one other young male with you?’
‘Roddy Cape. He’s a year above me at college.’
‘Are you the only one who’s underage, Cal?’ Clarke checked.
Cal nodded. ‘He was going to let the rest of them in – just not me. I think he wanted to see what we’d do. Like he was trying to get us worked up. Harry stepped in to keep the peace, and that was that.’
‘Who’s Harry?’ Gail McKie demanded. Cal pursed his lips.
‘He works for Darryl,’ Clarke answered her. ‘He was on babysitting duty – is that right, Cal? Making sure the evening went smoothly?’
‘I suppose,’ Cal admitted.
‘There we are then,’ McKie said. ‘A doorman was given some verbals, but not by my son. So you can go take your witch hunt elsewhere.’
‘The doorman ended up dead, Ms McKie,’ James informed her. For the first time, Cal looked up, his mouth opening soundlessly. ‘So you can see that we have to look at anyone who might have held a grudge. Right now, I’d say that includes Daniel Reynolds.’
‘Cal,’ Clarke asked softly, ‘does Dandy carry a blade?’
‘How would I know?’
‘Because he’s probably the sort who’d want his mates to know.’
‘He’s mouthy, but that’s as far as it goes. Besides, he knows when he’s out with me he’s got all the protection he needs.’
‘Because your brother is Darryl Christie?’ Clarke nodded slowly. ‘But someone got to Darryl, didn’t they? Someone proved he’s human.’
‘And what are the police doing about that?’ Gail McKie snarled, folding her arms. ‘They arrest the guy but then let him go and focus instead on this, because an assault on one of their own always takes precedence.’
‘Murder rather than assault,’ Clarke corrected her.
‘You know what I mea
n, though – one law for us, one law for you. Always has been and always will.’ She swung her legs off the sofa. ‘Are we done here?’
‘We need addresses for Dandy and Roddy,’ James said, his eyes on Cal.
‘We don’t know their addresses,’ McKie snapped.
‘Cal’s never been round to their house?’ James sounded disbelieving. ‘He’ll have their phone numbers, though, won’t he? He can let us have those at least.’
McKie’s face darkened. She was on her feet now. She made a noise that was almost feral as she kicked her son on one ankle.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘And then you and me are going to have words.’
Cal was already sliding his phone from his back pocket, switching it on, readying to search his address book.
‘Darryl’s not home?’ Clarke asked McKie, trying to make it sound like the most casual of enquiries.
‘Back at work, despite his injuries – never relaxes for a minute, that one.’ She seemed to be aiming this remark at Cal.
‘Do you want the numbers or don’t you?’ he asked, holding the phone towards his mother.
‘Not me, them,’ she snapped back. As Cal began to recite, Clarke copied the details into her own phone.
‘One more thing, Ms McKie,’ she said when she was done. ‘The suspect you mentioned – he seems to have gone missing.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’
McKie rolled her eyes, but said nothing.
James seemed pleased with the result as they headed to the car. Clarke wasn’t so sure. Darryl had told her he was moving his family to a place of safety. Why had he changed his mind? Or had he lied in the first place?
‘Back to Leith?’ James suggested, opening the passenger door.
‘Back to Leith,’ Clarke agreed.
16
Fox stared from the doorway of the MIT room towards his desk. Siobhan Clarke was seated there, one leg crossed over the other, with a mug of tea in front of her and a chocolate biscuit protruding from her mouth. She had just said something that had the whole team chuckling – until they saw Fox.
‘The prodigal returns,’ Alvin James said, stretching out an arm in mock welcome. ‘What happened? Did the interview with Maxine Dromgoole tire you out?’
Fox walked into the centre of the room. Rebus passed him on his way to the kettle.