Even dogs in the wild (14 page)

him. Andrew Goodman’s office was above a glazier’s on a

narrow street near Haymarket, the drive from Cafferty’s house

taking less than seven minutes.

‘Wish I’d known,’ Cafferty said, as Goodman met him at the

door. The two men shook hands and Goodman led Cafferty

inside.

‘That I’m so close to yours?’

‘That you’re above a glazier’s,’ Cafferty corrected him.

‘Right enough – might have been a deal to be done there.

Want a coffee or anything?’

Cafferty shook his head. ‘I’m here to pay what I owe you.’

Goodman raised an eyebrow as he settled himself behind his

desk. He was tall and toned and shaven-headed, with piercing

blue eyes. ‘You’re finished with my lads?’

‘I’ve an overnight bag in the back of their car. Going to lay

low for a bit.’

Goodman was thoughtful. ‘They could still be useful,

though.’

But Cafferty shook his head. He pulled a roll of banknotes

from his coat and peeled off ten.

‘This enough?’

‘It’ll do. Want a receipt?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ Cafferty stepped forward and

placed the notes on the desk. As Goodman stretched out a hand

to take them, Cafferty snatched at the man’s wrist, gripping it

hard.

‘What did the Starks say to you, Andrew?’

‘I already told you.’ Goodman’s gaze was steady.

‘But did you tell me the truth?’

‘They’re looking for Hamish Wright. But they’re more

interested in something he has that belongs to them – wouldn’t

say what, but we can both guess.’

‘Did they mention Darryl Christie at all?’

‘Why should they?’

‘It’s an answer I want, rather than another fucking question.’

‘They didn’t. But I hear they’ve just roughed up Chick

Carpenter.’

‘The storage guy?’

Goodman nodded.

‘Used him once or twice myself,’ Cafferty mused. ‘Before

he started getting pally with young Darryl.’ He released his

grasp. Goodman snatched his hand back.

‘Sorry about that,’ Cafferty said. ‘I might be just a bit more

on edge than usual. Is Carpenter okay?’

‘I heard he’s in A and E.’

‘Darryl won’t be happy about that.’

‘I wouldn’t think.’

‘Bad times on the horizon.’

‘Thing is, every lowlife in town knows something’s up. If

the Starks were clever, they’d have been making daily trips into

town rather than hanging around like a fart under a duvet.’

‘They want to be seen. They want the word out that they’re

after someone or something. That way, maybe the right info

will come to them rather than them having to hunt it down.’

‘I see that, but it means everyone’s out on the chase – and

most will want to keep whatever they find to themselves. It’s

turning into a feeding frenzy.’

‘Except without any sign of the actual prey.’ Cafferty dug

his hands deep into his pockets and straightened his shoulders.

‘I want you to be my eyes and ears, Andrew. I’ll call you every

day.’ He paused. ‘If that’s all right with you.’

‘Fine and dandy. So where will you—’ Goodman broke off.

‘Sorry, stupid question.’

‘I’m going to phone for a taxi and fetch my bag from the

car.’

‘Sure thing.’ Goodman got up from the desk.

‘And if word of my little disappearing act gets back to

anyone – the Starks or Christie or
anyone –
I’ll know who to blame. Okay?’

‘You don’t need to worry about me. And remember, I’m ex-

army – in your situation, I’d be doing exactly the same. If all

you know is that the enemy’s out there somewhere, you keep

your head down until it gets close enough to make a target.’

Cafferty was nodding as the two men descended the stairs.

He took out his phone and ordered a cab, without giving a

precise destination.

‘City centre,’ was all he said.

Meaningless, Goodman knew. Once he was in the cab, he

could order the driver anywhere – enough cash on him for a trip

to Fife, or maybe even Glasgow. Cafferty shook hands with

both bodyguards as they handed him his bag. It was a large

brown leather holdall, and it looked laden.

The cab arrived quickly, Cafferty clambering into the back

and slamming the door shut. The three men watched it move

off.

‘Want us to tail him?’ Goodman was asked.

He shook his head slowly. ‘Did you take a look in the bag,

though?’

‘There’s a lock on it. Felt like clothes mostly, plus a laptop.’

Goodman ran his tongue over his lips as the cab disappeared

from view. ‘Well, good luck to him,’ he said. ‘By which, of

course, I mean the exact bloody opposite.’

He headed back upstairs to make a call.

The flat in Quartermile had been a recent purchase – just one

small brick in Cafferty’s property empire. He hadn’t got round

to letting it yet. Place was only half furnished, though the

developer had added a few nice touches, including a wicker

basket of food and drink. Quartermile had been the old

infirmary, its original red sandstone blocks now joined by new-

build steel and glass towers. The two-bedroom flat was in one

of these new additions, and not quite at the penthouse level. But

it had views over the Meadows, and there were shops, cafés and

pubs nearby. The university was practically next door, meaning

lots of students, but that was fine with Cafferty – students

wouldn’t know him from any other bugger of an age they could

reliably ignore.

The flat had both landline and Wi-Fi, so Cafferty plugged

his laptop into a wall socket and booted it up. The password

was on a Post-it note attached to one of the kitchen cupboards.

He typed it in, loosened his shoulders and got busy.

Lord Minton. David Minton. There had to be something,

some criminal trial, some bribe, some cover-up. He stared hard

at photos of the man in various stages of his life, but no

memories were stirred. The problem was, he couldn’t

concentrate – the Starks kept getting in the way. He called a

guy he knew in Glasgow, who told him Joe was back in the city

but Dennis hadn’t been seen in a while, ‘which is like an

unexpected holiday for some of us, so feel free to keep him’.

Cafferty considered getting in touch with Joe, maybe telling

him to shove his nutjob son back in the kennel. Then again, by

putting Chick Carpenter in hospital, Dennis was heading ever

closer to a collision with Darryl Christie. If Joe’s intention had

been to cosy up to Christie, Dennis was putting that in jeopardy.

Dennis against Darryl – Cafferty wouldn’t mind a ringside seat

at that particular bout. Dennis all testosterone and big swinging

punches; Darryl using brains and guile to plot his opponent’s

demise. How many men had Dennis brought with him? Not as

many as Darryl would have. If reinforcements were called for

from the west coast, well, it really
would
start to get messy.

‘Good and messy,’ Cafferty muttered to himself.

On the other hand, there was an outside chance that an

alliance was in the offing, the Starks showing Darryl how much

he needed their friendship, or how chaotic things could become

if he didn’t accept that helping hand. Cafferty had long known

that the world of the gangster was the world of the capitalist.

Markets had to be created, sustained and expanded, competition

nullified. Bigger meant safer, and there was definitely shrinkage

in Glasgow. The old skills of the moneylender had all but

disappeared – or rather had succumbed to legitimate

competition. The interest rates advertised on daytime TV

weren’t so dissimilar to those offered on the street, but without

the threat of a hammer or a nail gun should repayments falter. A

lot of the money made from protection and prostitutes had been

curtailed too, thanks to the legal system stamping down harder.

Drugs were still the safest bet, but bringing them into the

country was always fraught.

Cafferty heard the stories from old hands and newer ones –

times were tough, meaning the Starks needed either fresh

alliances or new realms to conquer. He couldn’t know for sure

that the missing haulier and his hidden treasure weren’t a

convenient smokescreen. Nor could he say as yet that either

Darryl Christie or the Starks had aimed that gun at him. Which

was why he turned back to the internet and started loading fresh

pages about Lord Minton. If Minton had put away a Stark

associate or a friend of Christie’s, he might be on the road to an

answer.

The view across the Meadows towards Marchmont faded as

the sun dipped below the horizon. Rebus lived in Marchmont.

Cafferty knew he could count on the man as an ally only so far.

Rebus still had a cop’s instincts, meaning he would take

Cafferty down if he thought there was a halfway decent chance

of a conviction. On the other hand, war breaking out on the

streets was in no one’s interests. If it were to happen, the police

would target both Dennis Stark
and
Darryl Christie.

And if those pieces were removed from the board, Cafferty

would be ready to fill the vacuum.

More than ready.

Thirteen

The back room of the Oxford Bar, the corner table by the fire.

‘I’d like to convene this meeting,’ Rebus announced, placing

the three drinks on the table. Fox and Clarke had settled

themselves, removing coats and scarves. Fox was on tonic

water, Clarke the same but with the addition of two measures of

gin. ‘Cheers,’ Rebus said, seating himself opposite them.

‘Have you spoken to Page yet?’ Clarke asked.

‘Give me a chance,’ Rebus answered, taking a sip from his

pint. Then, for Fox’s benefit: ‘DCI Page seems to think I might

be a valuable addition to the team.’

‘And what’s brought about this miracle?’

Clarke explained about the note Cafferty had received.

‘By the way,’ Rebus added, ‘Big Ger thinks your haulier

may be dead and buried.’

‘Not possible – Compston would know.’

Rebus shrugged. ‘Maybe Compston
does
know. Maybe he’s

not been entirely frank with you.’

‘Besides,’ Fox went on, ‘Cafferty doesn’t have anyone on

the inside, does he?’

Rebus just shrugged again. Clarke was looking from one

man to the other.

‘What are you two talking about?’

Rebus raised an eyebrow at Fox. ‘You’ve not said?’

Now it was Fox’s turn to bring Clarke up to date.

‘Hang on,’ Rebus eventually interrupted. ‘They went to the

Gimlet?’

Fox nodded. ‘But they were only inside a couple of minutes,

meaning Davie Dunn probably wasn’t there.’

‘And this was after they’d given Carpenter a doing outside

his own premises?’ Rebus was bristling.

‘Easy, John,’ Clarke advised him. ‘You’re not CID these

days.’

‘Everyone keeps telling me that, but I’ll be buggered if I sit

around and let
my
city get turned over by a streak of piss like Dennis Stark.’

‘A noble sentiment,’ Clarke said, attempting levity, ‘but let’s

try and keep a sense of perspective. Your job is to advise
us
,

John. The Starks need to be left to Malcolm and his merry

men.’

Rebus gave Fox a hard stare, then turned back to Clarke.

‘Thing is, Compston’s men were watching when Dennis Stark

thumped the storage guy, and they made no move to step in or

break it up. A man could have been killed, and I’m willing to

bet Compston would have sat on his hands.’

‘Is that right, Malcolm?’ Clarke asked quietly.

‘Of course it’s right,’ Rebus spat. ‘We could have the son in

custody right now, charged with assault. But that’s not good

enough for Compston: he wants the full set – father and son,

drugs and money – so that
his
boss, our glorious Chief

Constable, can look good on TV. Wouldn’t you say that’s the

case, DI Fox?’

The table was silent for a moment, Fox concentrating on the

ice cubes in his glass.

‘There’s one of our lot on the inside, don’t forget,’ he

eventually said. ‘I doubt a fine for Dennis Stark would be seen

as recompense for his efforts.’

‘But at least the Starks would have been warned, meaning

they’d slope off back to Glasgow. Peace on the streets and good

luck to Hamish Wright and his ill-gotten gains.’ Rebus took too

swift a gulp from his pint, beer dribbling down one cheek to his

chin. He swiped it away with the back of a hand.

‘Have you told Doug Maxtone any of this?’ Clarke asked

Fox.

Fox shook his head.

‘Why not?’

‘Maybe because his thinking wouldn’t be dissimilar from

John’s.’

‘You’re not Compston’s man, Malcolm. You need to

remember that.’

Fox nodded slowly.

‘What do you think Malcolm should do, John?’

Rebus puffed his cheeks and exhaled. ‘Take up drinking,

maybe. Because sober, he’s going to be replaying that beating

all the sleepless night.’

‘But should he take what he knows to Doug Maxtone?’

‘That’s got to be Malcolm’s call.’

‘You think Chick Carpenter will want to press charges?’ Fox

asked.

‘He doesn’t have to – we’ve police witnesses to the assault.’