62

Fox was usually first into the Complaints office, but not today. Tony Kaye was standing behind Fox’s desk, holding a cardboard beaker of coffee in one hand and using the other to sift through one of the stacks of paperwork relating to John Rebus.

“Early bird,” Fox said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up.

“Thought I’d maybe have a word before Joe Naysmith arrives.”

“Lost your phone?”

“I thought this was best done face to face.”

“Spit it out, then.”

Kaye rested a hand on one of the piles of paper. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“You’re going to tell me we’re wasting our time.”

“The guy’s old-school, Malcolm. It’s amazing any of them still survive.”

“So he’s some kind of endangered species and we should be feeding him bamboo?”

“A good hunter knows when not to pull the trigger.”

“You’ve seen the phone logs, Tony: is there any villain in the city he’s not cozied up to?”

“DI Clarke said it—if Rebus is attached to the McKie case, he’s got plenty of reasons for talking to Frank Hammell.”

“And Cafferty?”

“Used to be Hammell’s employer.”

Fox shook his head slowly. “The man’s a liability—and dangerous with it.”

“That’s for the board to decide.”

“With our input. Are you saying I put a halo over Rebus’s head?”

“Just stick to the facts. Don’t let it get personal.”

“Who says it’s personal?”

“It is, though. You worked CID at St. Leonard’s, same time he did.”

“So?”

“I remember you once telling me, not every good detective fits in at Complaints.”

“Are you saying I couldn’t hack it in CID?”

It was Kaye’s turn to shake his head. “I’m saying Rebus got results the old way, without seeming to earn them. He did that because he got close to some nasty people in a way you couldn’t. This is what you’re good at, Malcolm.” He tapped the desk. “Rebus specializes in something a bit different—doesn’t necessarily make him the enemy.”

“We’ve got to be accountable, Tony. Rebus and his ilk don’t see that. In point of fact, I think he gets his jollies sticking two fingers up to the rest of us.”

“Doesn’t make him the enemy,” Kaye repeated quietly.

Fox’s phone vibrated, letting him know he had a message. He looked at the screen, then at his colleague.

“Have you mentioned any of this to the Chief?”

Kaye shook his head. “Why?”

“Because he wants a word.” Fox’s eyes scanned the mass of paper-work. There were boxes of it on the floor next to his desk. Thousands of pages detailing dozens of infractions. But dozens of arrests, too. And no smoking gun. Same with the notes at Fox’s house—all of it circumstantial; easy to read into it anything you liked.

“You think it’s about Rebus?” Tony Kaye was asking.

“What else?” Fox said, making for the door.

“They could bounce me down the stairs for this,” Arnold complained, meeting Rebus outside Northern Constabulary HQ.

Rebus held out a brown paper bag, which Arnold took and opened, pulling out a croissant and biting into it. Then he gestured for Rebus to follow him into the building, where he was signed in as a visitor and handed a pass, “to be worn at all times.”