Even dogs in the wild (40 page)

‘If it’s food you’re after . . .’

‘Text me,’ Clarke demanded, ending the call.

Rebus was halfway between Perth and Edinburgh when he got a

message from Christine Esson:

Long day in the salt mines – you owe me a whole

bakery. Didn’t find much & drew a blank w/

Holroyd. Internet search etc. and it’s like he never

existed. Did get a hit on one name – David Dunn.

Surprised you don’t know him. Ran the Gimlet till

it burned down.

Cursing under his breath, Rebus called her back.

‘It’s late,’ she told him.

‘Tell me about Davie Dunn.’

‘He was in Acorn House for only a few weeks, not long

before it was shut down. Shoplifting, drugs, a bit of gang

activity. Cleaned up his act, though. Got a job as a van driver,

passed his HGV, started on long distance. Worked for Hamish

Wright Highland Haulage for a while.’

‘Anything else?’

‘I’ve got plenty of scrawls and scribbles. I’ll type them up in

the morning.’

‘You’re a star, Christine.’

‘The brightest in any constellation.’

He ended the call and made another. Darryl Christie seemed

to be driving when he picked up. Rebus could hear a stereo

being muted.

‘What do you want?’ Christie asked with minimum

politeness.

‘I need to talk to Davie Dunn.’

‘I’m not stopping you.’

‘He’s hardly likely to be at the Gimlet, though.’

‘Rub it in, why don’t you.’

‘We both know you had the place torched, Darryl – easier

that way to flog the land to a supermarket.’

‘I really didn’t.’

‘Tell you what, then – give me a number for Davie and I’ll

believe you.’

‘Why do you need to speak to him?’

‘That’s between me and him.’

‘He’ll tell me if I ask.’

‘And you’ll be denied that treat unless I speak to him first.’

‘You’ve got a good line in patter, I can’t deny it.’ Then, after

a pause: ‘Try Brogan’s.’

Rebus glanced at the time. ‘Will it still be open?’

‘Probably not, but there’s an after-hours card game. When

they unlock the door, just mention my name . . .’

Late night meant no queue at the Forth Road Bridge and a quick

drive into town. Brogan’s was a pub in Leith. Rebus felt like

death as he parked the Saab and got out. He dreaded to think

how many miles he had covered. His neck felt like it was in a

vice and his knees were throbbing. What was the name of that

film Siobhan had wanted to take him to?
No Country for Old

Men
? No denying he was old, and he doubted he would ever

drive as much of the country again. From the outside, Brogan’s

looked deserted, but Rebus tried the thick wooden door and

then banged on it with a fist.

‘We’re shut,’ a voice barked.

‘Darryl Christie said it would be fine.’

Immediately he could hear bolts being drawn back. The door

was pulled open and Rebus stepped inside. The man on guard

duty looked like a regular who’d been slipped a couple of free

drinks as payment. He was big without being threatening.

Rebus nodded a greeting.

‘Back room,’ the man said, sliding the bolts across once

more.

Rebus headed past the shuttered bar and down a narrow

passageway, with pungent toilets off to one side. He could hear

low voices, soft laughter. The back room was twelve feet

square. One of its circular tables had been placed in a central

position, and five men sat in a tight fit around it. Four more

were perched on stools at the still operational bar. There was no

barman, and they seemed to be helping themselves. Rebus

knew a couple of the faces, and held up his palms to show he

wasn’t about to cause a fuss.

‘Join the queue,’ one of the men at the table said, as chips

were counted and readied for the next hand.

‘Just need a quick word with Davie,’ Rebus announced.

Davie Dunn turned round and saw the new arrival for the

first time. ‘Who are you?’

‘His name’s Rebus,’ one of the others said. ‘CID.’

Dunn considered for a moment, then pushed back his chair

and got up. Rebus gestured towards the jacket draped over the

chair.

‘Might need that. And your chips as well.’

‘A quick word, you said?’

‘No way of telling,’ Rebus admitted with a shrug.

They headed for the street, the sentry looking aggrieved at

being disturbed again so soon. On the pavement, Rebus got a

cigarette lit and offered one to Dunn. The man shook his head.

‘Mind if we walk?’ Rebus said. ‘I could do with stretching

my legs.’

‘Hell is this all about?’

But Rebus moved off without talking. After a few moments,

Dunn caught him up, the two men walking in silence for a few

yards, Rebus feeling his joints loosen, glad of the exercise.

‘It’s about Acorn House,’ he eventually admitted.

‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’

‘It’s the assessment centre you were in for a few weeks in

the mid eighties.’

‘Ancient history.’

‘It seems to have become current.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Did you ever come across a lad called Bryan Holroyd?’

‘No.’

‘Sure about that?’

‘I really don’t remember much from those days.’

‘Is that because you don’t want to? I’ve heard some of the

stories, and I know what went on there.’

‘Oh aye?’

‘Boys used by older men – men who should have known

better.’

‘I must have been too ugly then.’

‘It never happened to you?’

Dunn was shaking his head. ‘But I did hear the rumours.

Mind, every place like that I ever stayed, there were always

rumours – it was a way of putting the fear of God into you so

you didn’t step out of line.’

‘Bad stuff definitely did happen at Acorn House, Davie.’

‘And I’m saying I never saw anything – I was only there a

month or six weeks.’

‘Your name turned up in dispatches – ever meet a reporter

called Patrick Spiers?’

‘I remember the name.’

‘He talked to you?’

‘Not so much talk as pester – I told him the same thing I’ve

just told you, but that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.’

‘He was trying to make a case against some very prominent

men. I’m assuming he told you their names?’

‘You can also assume I didn’t listen.’

‘How about Michael Tolland – you must remember him?’

Dunn nodded. ‘He was okay. Used to dole out cigarettes and

the occasional bottle of cider.’

‘And he never asked for favours in return?’

They were approaching the Shore. A few stragglers from the

local bars and restaurants were wending their way home, or

waiting to flag down non-existent taxis. Rebus paused on the

bridge, waiting for Dunn to answer, the Water of Leith dark and

still below them.

‘I got my life back on track, Rebus,’ Dunn eventually stated.

‘Got married, had a couple of kids – that’s the only thing that

matters to me.’

‘Nobody ever threatened you? Or paid you to keep quiet?’

‘No.’

‘So you ended up driving HGVs.’

‘That’s right.’

‘For Hamish Wright.’

‘Yes.’

‘Who’s now gone AWOL, leaving behind some very irate

Glasgow gangsters.’

‘The same ones who tried beating me up and then torched

my pub. How come you’re not going out of your way to catch

them
?’

‘Because right now I’m interested in Acorn House. On the

other hand, if there’s anything you want to tell me about

Hamish Wright . . .’

‘Haven’t had anything to do with him in years.’

‘You’ll have told Darryl that, I dare say?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not the sort of person you’d want to lie to.’

‘I don’t see what this has to do with Acorn House.’

Rebus turned to face him. ‘Darryl Christie told me where to

find you. He’s going to want to know what we talked about.’

‘So?’

‘So I’m about to tell you something – it’s up to you how

much of it you pass on to him.’

Dunn cocked his head. ‘I’m listening,’ he said.

‘What if I were to say that someone seems intent on

punishing the men who took part in the abuse at Acorn House?’

It took Dunn a few moments to digest Rebus’s words. ‘Is it

true?’ he asked.

‘Might well be.’

‘I heard that Tolland died when someone broke into his

house.’

‘Same thing happened to David Minton. He was a pal of

Howard Champ MP. You never met Champ?’

‘Champ used to drop by,’ Dunn stated coldly, leaning over

the bridge and spitting into the water.

‘I know this can’t be easy, Davie, but I need to ask if there’s

anything you can tell me . . .’

‘To catch a kid from Acorn House who’s decided at last that

it’s Judgement Day?’ Dunn’s mouth twisted in a grim smile.

‘Know what I say to that?’

‘What?’ Rebus asked, already knowing the answer.

‘I’d say fucking good luck to them.’

Dunn turned and began retracing his steps, shoulders

slumped, hands in pockets.

Rebus considered trying to stop him, but instead stayed

where he was, the filter of his cigarette pressed between two

fingers long after the cigarette itself had died. He couldn’t help

feeling that the man had a point, and Rebus was no longer a

cop. What did it matter if Bryan Holroyd was out there, picking

off his abusers and their abettors?

Yet somehow it did – it did matter. Always had, always

would. Not because of any of the victims or perpetrators, but

for Rebus himself. Because if none of it mattered, then neither

did he. A couple of drunks walked past, their gait unsteady but

smiles on their faces.

‘Don’t jump!’ one of them called out.

‘Not today,’ Rebus assured the man, taking out his phone to

check who was calling him at this godforsaken hour.

The answer: Cafferty, naturally.

DAY NINE

Thirty Six

Mid morning, Rebus met Cafferty in a café on George IV

Bridge.

‘Are we still keeping up the pretence that you’re staying at

the G and V?’ he asked.

Cafferty just stirred his coffee. He had secured a large table

by a window looking out across Candlemaker Row to

Greyfriars Kirkyard. Rebus, arriving late, hadn’t bothered

joining the long queue at the counter.

‘I should have got you one,’ Cafferty said by way of

apology, lifting the cup to his lips. ‘I take it you’ve news?’

‘The kid who died – Bryan Holroyd – didn’t really die.’

Cafferty choked the mouthful of coffee down and lowered

the cup back on to its saucer.

‘That’s why I wanted us to meet somewhere nice and

public,’ Rebus went on. ‘Less chance of you throwing a fit.’

‘What the hell do you mean, he didn’t die?’

‘Miraculous recovery in the boot of the car. When Dave

Ritter opened it, Holroyd leapt out and ran into the woods.

Ritter and Jeffries went after him but had to give up eventually.

They reckoned he would freeze to death.’

‘Bastards, the pair of them.’

‘They were bricking it for weeks in case you found out.’

‘You got this from Ritter? Where’s he holed up? I want a

nice long word with him.’

Rebus was shaking his head. ‘Not going to happen.’

‘So this Holroyd kid’s coming after us? After all these

years?’ Cafferty didn’t sound convinced.

‘Unless you’ve got a better theory.’

Cafferty was gripping the edge of the table with both hands,

as though he might tip it over at any moment. His eyes flitted

around the room as his thoughts tumbled, his breathing growing

hoarse.

‘No coronaries, please,’ Rebus advised him.

‘There’s got to be a reckoning, John. No way I can let those

two shits get away with it.’

‘At least now we have a line on the person we’re looking

for. Only problem is, Holroyd seems to have gone off-grid – no

sign of a conviction, or a National Insurance number, or taxes

being paid.’

‘You sure of that?’

‘Christine Esson did the digging – she’s thorough as any

gold miner.’

‘He fled the country then, and has only just come back?’

‘No passport in his name.’

‘Then he’s changed it.’

‘Which makes our job all the harder. Doesn’t help that I’ve

only the vaguest physical description, and he’ll have changed a

bit in thirty years. There
is
one thing, though – we’ve got a live one right here in Edinburgh. Or Portobello, if you want to be

precise.’

‘Who?’

‘Todd Dalrymple – Ritter told me he was there that night.’

‘But Todd always had an eye for the ladies – the man’s been

married three decades or more.’

‘Chief Constable was married too,’ Rebus said.

‘Do we go talk to Dalrymple?’

‘
I
certainly do, and you’re invited if you think you can

refrain from doing any major structural damage.’ Rebus’s

phone was ringing: Siobhan. He got up from the table. ‘Got to

take this,’ he said, making for the door. He pressed the phone to

his ear as he passed the queue at the counter, a queue that now

stretched the length of the café. ‘Yes?’ he said, pulling open the

door and emerging on to George IV Bridge.

‘We missed you last night.’

‘That was always a probability. How was the grub?’