“Or maybe a selkie?”

“You implying I see things that aren’t there, DI Clarke?”

“How many lies are you going to tell the petrol station?”

“As few as necessary. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Always supposing they allow you more than one phone call,” she said.

Rebus managed another smile before punching in the number she had given him. But the petrol station’s footage for the day of Annette McKie’s disappearance was not available.

“You’ve already got it,” he was told.

“It’s at Inverness?” Rebus nodded his comprehension, ended the call and tried another number.

“John?” Gavin Arnold answered. “What can I do for you this fine, stress-free morning?”

“Raise those stress levels, maybe,” Rebus suggested.

“By doing what?”

“Bending a few rules,” Rebus answered, going on to explain his request.

62

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.”