Rebus had decided against pressing the point just yet. He had then thrown Saunders’s name into the mix.
‘Why not?’ he asked now, trying his own tea and finding it wanting.
‘Because the Solicitor General ruled it out from the off. I’m looking at Summerhall and Summerhall only.’
‘But surely Saunders is part of that.’
‘Elinor Macari’s team will be questioning Mr Saunders.’
‘But you must know that’s going to make your job all the harder?’ Rebus persisted.
‘Nevertheless, it’s what the Solicitor General wants.’
‘And you just left it at that?’ Rebus sounded bemused.
‘I’m not like you. Someone in authority tells me to do something, I don’t question it.’ Fox slurped at the tea, savouring it.
‘I still think it would help us ask the right questions of the Saints if we hear Saunders’s side of the story first.’
‘I don’t disagree. And once Saunders has been interviewed by Macari’s team, we’ll take a look at the transcripts.’
‘So we wait for that to happen before we bring them in?’
‘I doubt it would be practical to “bring in” George Blantyre.’
‘So we interview him at home?’
Fox fixed him with a look. ‘You’re sure you can do this?’
Rebus nodded.
‘And of course there’s your own interview to consider.’
‘Of course.’
‘In fact, it might help if we got that out of the way . . .’ Fox lifted his briefcase on to the desk and opened it, bringing out a pad of lined A4 paper.
‘Shouldn’t we finish going through the files first?’ Rebus queried, nodding in their direction.
‘I’ve been over them several times.’ Fox opened the pad, flicking through its pages. Dozens of them filled with his small, neat handwriting. Rebus saw a lot of question marks and a good deal of underlining. He was wondering if he had been huckled by Fox, reeled in like a greedy fish. Fox was staring at him, offering the thinnest of smiles.
‘Might help me size you up,’ the man explained. ‘See how much use I can make of you.’
‘No tape recorders? No video?’
‘Nothing so formal,’ Fox said with the same thin smile. ‘So . . .’ He glanced towards the pad in front of him while removing the top from a ballpoint pen. ‘You were a detective constable when you went to Summerhall? And this was in October 1982?’
‘November,’ Rebus corrected him.
‘Of course.’
Rebus watched as Fox made a little tick in the margin of a page. You knew that already. You’re just testing me, watching for when the lying starts . . .
‘And did you know any of the other CID officers before you arrived there?’
‘I’d met one or two.’
‘Specifically?’
‘Blantyre and Paterson.’
‘Both of them detective sergeants at this point?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you know them?’
‘Probably from court – the old Sheriff Court. Hanging around waiting to give evidence.’
‘And then there was the Police Club?’
‘I never went. Too much shop talk.’
‘You were already a regular at the Oxford Bar? A lot of cops used to drink there back in the day – anyone from Summerhall?’
‘Not that I remember.’
‘The CID team was pretty well established when you arrived?’
‘Was it?’
Fox allowed the question with yet another smile. He made show of checking his notes. ‘DI Gilmour had been there a couple of years, as had DS Blantyre. By the time you showed up, DS Paterson and DC Spence had the best part of eight months under their belts.’ Fox looked up. ‘Yet you were welcomed to the fold? They didn’t treat you with any degree of suspicion?’
‘They were fine.’
‘And how long was it before you were initiated?’
‘You mean into the Saints?’ It was Rebus’s turn to smile. ‘You make it sound like a big deal.’
‘You’re saying it wasn’t?’
‘It was just a name. Other CID units had their own versions – F Division were the Cowboys, C Division the Marooned.’
‘A lot more straightforward than “Saints of the Shadow
‘Why not?’ he asked now, trying his own tea and finding it wanting.
‘Because the Solicitor General ruled it out from the off. I’m looking at Summerhall and Summerhall only.’
‘But surely Saunders is part of that.’
‘Elinor Macari’s team will be questioning Mr Saunders.’
‘But you must know that’s going to make your job all the harder?’ Rebus persisted.
‘Nevertheless, it’s what the Solicitor General wants.’
‘And you just left it at that?’ Rebus sounded bemused.
‘I’m not like you. Someone in authority tells me to do something, I don’t question it.’ Fox slurped at the tea, savouring it.
‘I still think it would help us ask the right questions of the Saints if we hear Saunders’s side of the story first.’
‘I don’t disagree. And once Saunders has been interviewed by Macari’s team, we’ll take a look at the transcripts.’
‘So we wait for that to happen before we bring them in?’
‘I doubt it would be practical to “bring in” George Blantyre.’
‘So we interview him at home?’
Fox fixed him with a look. ‘You’re sure you can do this?’
Rebus nodded.
‘And of course there’s your own interview to consider.’
‘Of course.’
‘In fact, it might help if we got that out of the way . . .’ Fox lifted his briefcase on to the desk and opened it, bringing out a pad of lined A4 paper.
‘Shouldn’t we finish going through the files first?’ Rebus queried, nodding in their direction.
‘I’ve been over them several times.’ Fox opened the pad, flicking through its pages. Dozens of them filled with his small, neat handwriting. Rebus saw a lot of question marks and a good deal of underlining. He was wondering if he had been huckled by Fox, reeled in like a greedy fish. Fox was staring at him, offering the thinnest of smiles.
‘Might help me size you up,’ the man explained. ‘See how much use I can make of you.’
‘No tape recorders? No video?’
‘Nothing so formal,’ Fox said with the same thin smile. ‘So . . .’ He glanced towards the pad in front of him while removing the top from a ballpoint pen. ‘You were a detective constable when you went to Summerhall? And this was in October 1982?’
‘November,’ Rebus corrected him.
‘Of course.’
Rebus watched as Fox made a little tick in the margin of a page. You knew that already. You’re just testing me, watching for when the lying starts . . .
‘And did you know any of the other CID officers before you arrived there?’
‘I’d met one or two.’
‘Specifically?’
‘Blantyre and Paterson.’
‘Both of them detective sergeants at this point?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you know them?’
‘Probably from court – the old Sheriff Court. Hanging around waiting to give evidence.’
‘And then there was the Police Club?’
‘I never went. Too much shop talk.’
‘You were already a regular at the Oxford Bar? A lot of cops used to drink there back in the day – anyone from Summerhall?’
‘Not that I remember.’
‘The CID team was pretty well established when you arrived?’
‘Was it?’
Fox allowed the question with yet another smile. He made show of checking his notes. ‘DI Gilmour had been there a couple of years, as had DS Blantyre. By the time you showed up, DS Paterson and DC Spence had the best part of eight months under their belts.’ Fox looked up. ‘Yet you were welcomed to the fold? They didn’t treat you with any degree of suspicion?’
‘They were fine.’
‘And how long was it before you were initiated?’
‘You mean into the Saints?’ It was Rebus’s turn to smile. ‘You make it sound like a big deal.’
‘You’re saying it wasn’t?’
‘It was just a name. Other CID units had their own versions – F Division were the Cowboys, C Division the Marooned.’
‘A lot more straightforward than “Saints of the Shadow
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