Even dogs in the wild (37 page)

shopkeeper seemed to size him up, realising he wasn’t in the

market to buy.

‘I’m looking for this address.’ Rebus handed across the slip

of paper Christine Esson had given him.

‘Did you see the Tesco?’ the shopkeeper enquired.

‘I did.’

‘Next road on the left.’ The man handed back the piece of

paper. Rebus waited for more, then managed a thin smile.

‘You saw the name next to the address?’

‘Aye.’

‘So you know why I’m here.’

‘I dare say you’re some kind of policeman.’

‘Mr Ratner’s got a bit of a rep?’

‘He likes the drink more than it seems to like him.’

‘How long has he lived here?’

‘Six or seven years. He was dating a local lass, but that

didn’t come to anything. We thought he would move on, but

he’s still here.’

‘Does he have a job?’

‘I think he’s on the dole. Used to do some building work,

when it was offered.’

Rebus nodded his gratitude. ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

‘You know he has a temper?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s mostly after closing time. He should be fine just

now.’

‘And I’ll probably find him at home?’

‘If you don’t, it won’t take long to check out the nearby

watering holes.’

Rebus thanked the man, bought an unneeded packet of

cigarettes and walked back up the slope to his car.

‘Next road on the left,’ he recited as he passed the Tesco. He

pulled up outside a terraced house and pushed open the knee-

high metal gate. The garden was neither manicured nor a

wasteland. The curtains at the downstairs window were open,

those upstairs closed. He looked in vain for a doorbell, then

banged with his fist instead. No answer, so he thumped again.

Coughing from inside. He got the feeling someone was

descending from the upper floor. The door opened an inch, the

eyes squinting as they adjusted to the weak daylight.

‘Mr Ratner?’ Rebus asked. ‘David Ratner?’

‘Who’s asking?’

Rebus had already decided how to play it. ‘An old pal of

yours,’ he said, shoving at the door with his shoulder. Ratner

staggered backwards against the bottom two steps of the

staircase. By the time he’d recovered, Rebus was inside and the

door was closed.

‘Hell’s going on?’ the man yelped, voice filled with

grievance.

Rebus examined the hallway. Bare linoleum, walls that had

last seen a coat of paint in the eighties, a threadbare stair carpet.

The place held an aroma of single unwashed male.

‘Living room,’ he announced, making it sound like an

order.

Cafferty’s description of Dave Ritter had been sketchy, but it

did fit the man in front of Rebus, the one who was wondering

how best to get rid of this unwelcome guest so a courtship with

cheap booze could be resumed. The good news was,

Ratner/Ritter had no heft to him. He was almost as shrunken as

his friend Paul Jeffries. Rebus began to wonder if the enormity

of just one crime had ground both men down.

Without saying anything, the man led the way into a room

containing two charity shop armchairs and a newish-looking

TV. There were bottles and cans too, with empty fast-food

containers providing extra ornamentation.

‘Does your cleaner come tomorrow?’ Rebus asked.

‘Funny.’ The man was testing a few of the cans, without

finding a drop to drink in any.

‘Do I call you Ratner or Ritter?’

The freeze was momentary, but enough to convince Rebus.

‘Who sent you?’

‘Big Ger.’ Rebus was standing in front of the door to the

hall, a door he had pushed closed. If the man in front of him

wanted an exit, he was going to have to use the window.

‘A name from the past. And I prefer Ratner.’ He slumped

into one of the armchairs.

‘Here’s another name from the past.’ Rebus paused for

effect. ‘Acorn House.’

Ratner seemed to slump further, shoulders hunched. He

cursed under his breath.

‘Nothing to say?’ Rebus prompted. ‘Well that’s too bad,

because you’re the one who’s going to have to spit it out . . .’

Ratner looked at him. ‘You’ve seen Paul?’ he guessed.

‘Not got much repartee these days, has he?’

‘Poor bugger. At least I’ve still got a few brain cells. What

did Cafferty tell you?’

‘That you both worked for him back in the day – disposing

of problems. A patch of woodland in Fife was mentioned.’

‘Ancient history.’

‘It was until recently. Things have changed.’

‘Oh?’

Rebus decided to take the other chair. He pulled his

cigarettes out and gestured with them. Ratner took one and

allowed Rebus to light it.

‘Ta,’ he said.

Rebus lit one for himself and blew the smoke ceilingwards.

‘Are you here to terminate me?’ Ratner asked.

‘I hate to break it to you, Dave, but you’re not that

important.’

‘I never told another living soul, you know. So if someone’s

been blabbing, you need to look elsewhere.’

‘Do you remember Michael Tolland?’

Ratner mouthed the name silently a couple of times. ‘Was he

the one who opened the door to us?’

Rebus nodded slowly. ‘Who else was inside?’

‘The MP guy . . .’

‘Howard Champ?’

It was Ratner’s turn to nod. ‘And his pal Minton – a bloody

QC. Spent his days putting folk like me and Paul away, and

then headed out of an evening to bugger young boys at Acorn

House. Afterwards, I cursed if I ever had to as much as drive

past the place. There was talk of an inquiry at one point, but

I’m guessing Minton put the lid on that and screwed it down

tight.’

‘Wasn’t the only job you did for Big Ger, though – the only

disposal, I mean?’

‘There were a few, but never kids. Just that one time. I doubt

a day goes by when I don’t think of it. Those men climbing

back into their suits, sorting their cufflinks, shaking and pale-

faced, not from shame, but because they might be found out.’

He shook his head slowly.

‘Cafferty wasn’t there?’

‘God, no.’

‘But it meant they owed him.’

Ratner nodded. ‘I’m sure he pulled a few favours. Except

from—’ He broke off, his eyes fixing on Rebus. ‘Don’t suppose

it matters now, does it?’

‘Who else was there?’

‘He was just arriving as we left. Tried mumbling some

excuse, but Paul and I knew what he’d come for – same thing as

the rest of them.’

‘Was it the Chief Constable?’

‘Broadfoot, you mean? Oh, his name was mentioned –

they’d thought of phoning
him
to get rid of the body, until

Champ mentioned Big Ger.’

‘But he wasn’t actually there?’

‘Guy who turned up was Todd Dalrymple.’

‘From Milligan’s Casino?’

‘That’s the one. Happily married, but that didn’t mean

much to some of them – Chief Constable had a wife too, didn’t

he?’

‘Did Cafferty know?’

‘About Dalrymple?’ Ratner shook his head again. ‘He

peeled off a roll of fifties and split it between us.’

‘Paul Jeffries ended up driving for him.’

‘He did, yes.’

‘And Dalrymple still visits him.’

Ratner’s face twisted into a sour smile. ‘To make sure Paul

hasn’t got mouthy as well as senile.’

Rebus nodded his understanding. Silence fell over the room.

Ratner rose slowly to his feet, but only to switch on the ceiling

light.

‘You’re sure you’re not here to do me in?’ he asked as he sat

down again. ‘Because to be honest, I’m not sure I wouldn’t

welcome it – maybe you can tell. I was a vicious little sod back

then, I admit. People can change, though . . .’

‘Felt good to get it off your chest after all these years?’

Rebus nodded again. ‘Aye, I can see that, but to answer

your question –
I’m
not going to kill you, but someone else

might.’

‘Oh?’

‘Somebody fired a shot at Big Ger. Somebody also killed

Minton and Tolland.’

‘Bit of a coincidence.’ Having finished the cigarette, Ratner

dropped its remains into one of the empty cans. A few moments

later, Rebus did the same with his.

‘Acorn House seems to be the connection, wouldn’t you

say? Which is why we’re thinking about the victim – his name

was Bryan Holroyd, by the way.’

‘Ah, the victim . . .’ Ratner went silent again. He rose slowly

to his feet and stood by the window, his hands sliding into his

trouser pockets. Eventually he turned his head towards Rebus.

‘Has Cafferty worked it out then?’

‘Worked what out?’

‘We told him it was job done. What else were we going to

do? We knew he’d go mental, probably bury the pair of us with

his bare hands.’

Rebus sat forward a little. ‘What are you saying?’

‘The kid wasn’t dead. Everybody acted like he was and told

us he was, and we took that at face value. Picked him up and he

was all floppy, like a corpse would be. Stuffed him in the car

and drove to Fife, got out and opened the boot . . .’

‘And?’

‘And he flew past me like a banshee! I nearly died on the

spot. He was hardly dressed at all, but he was off and running.’

‘You went after him?’

‘We scoured that bloody forest until dawn, frozen to the

marrow.’

‘He got away?’ Rebus’s voice was a fraction above a

whisper.

‘No way he could have survived out there, all but naked and

no shelter for miles. We kept an eye on the news, but there was

never a report of a body being found. We reckoned he had lain

down, covered himself with leaves and died like that,

decomposing and gone for ever.’

‘But supposing he didn’t – he would have names, wouldn’t

he? Maybe not yours, but Minton and Tolland. He was probably

lying there while they talked about fetching Cafferty. Those

three names.’

‘Is Champ dead too?’ Ratner asked.

Rebus nodded. ‘Natural causes, a few years back.’

‘Doesn’t make sense then – wouldn’t the main grudge

be against him? And why take so long to do something about

it?’

‘I don’t know.’ But Rebus knew the man had a point. ‘Nor

do I know what Holroyd looked like.’

‘Skinny, pale, dark hair, young-looking face . . . Hardly

likely to help you after all this time.’ Ratner paused. ‘You think

it’s really him?’

‘It might be.’

‘And you’ll be telling Cafferty?’

‘I have to.’

‘You know he’ll kill me?’

‘Not if I don’t tell him where to find you.’

Ratner was staring at him. ‘You’d do that?’

‘Maybe. But I need a statement from you – I need

everything you’ve just told me.’

‘A
statement
? So you’re a cop?’

‘I used to be.’

Ratner slumped back into his chair. ‘That kid haunted us,

you know. I think he’s what did for Paul’s marbles in the end.

And look how great
my
life turned out . . .’

Rebus was searching his phone for the recording function.

He glanced up at Ratner for a second.

‘No less than you fucking deserve,’ he said.

Thirty Three

‘Are you Anthony?’ Fox asked. ‘Or is it Wee Anthony?’ He

had parked in one of the bays in front of CC Self Storage. Chick

Carpenter’s Aston Martin wasn’t there. The two-storey

building’s frontage included a loading bay, protected by a roll-

down grille, plus a solid wooden door with the word

RECEPTION on it. The man walking towards him had emerged

from this door, obviously in response to the sound of Fox’s car.

He stood just under five and a half feet high, and Fox

recognised him as the colleague who had watched Carpenter

take a beating at the hands of Dennis Stark and Jackie Dyson.

The man had reckoned on greeting a new customer, but now

he wasn’t so sure. He looked to right and left, as if fearing Fox

might have brought back-up. Fox produced his warrant card,

which did little to calm the man’s nerves.

‘You’re not in trouble,’ Fox assured him. ‘Just need a quick

word. How’s your boss doing, by the way?’

‘My boss?’

‘I heard he got a thumping.’

‘Did he?’

Fox smiled. ‘You heard Dennis Stark got himself killed?’

‘Who’s Dennis Stark?’

Fox made show of folding his arms. ‘This really the way you

want to play it, Anthony? You
are
Anthony?’

Eventually the man nodded.

‘And did they manage to give you a surname at the

christening, Anthony?’

‘Wright.’

Fox could feel cogs beginning to turn. ‘Well, Mr Wright,’ he

said, ‘I’m Detective Inspector Malcolm Fox.’

‘Whoever did him in, it had nothing to do with us,’ Wright

blurted out, a tremor in his voice.

‘You’ll appreciate we have to ask the questions, though.

Here or in the office – your choice.’

‘Do I need a lawyer or anything?’

Fox tried for a dumbfounded look. ‘Why would you need a

lawyer? This is just us having a chat.’

‘I should phone Chick . . .’

‘I’d rather you didn’t – we’ll be talking to him separately.’

‘What’s it got to do with me anyway?’

‘You were present when your employer was attacked, yes?’

‘How do you know that?’

Fox found that he was enjoying thinking on his feet. ‘Dennis

Stark’s pals are obviously keen that we find his killer. They’ve