Free The Hanging Garden by Ian Rankin Page A

then,’ he said at last.
    ‘You’ll let Fettes know?’
    ‘I’ll let them know.’
    ‘Thank you, sir.’ Rebus turned to leave.
    ‘John …?’ The Farmer was standing behind his desk. ‘You know what I’m going to say.’
    ‘You’re going to tell me not to tread on too many toes, not to go off on my own little crusade, to keep in regular contact with you, and not betray your trust in me. Does that just about do it, sir?’
    The Farmer shook his head, smiling. ‘Bugger off,’ he said.
    Rebus buggered off.
    When he walked into the room, Candice rose so quickly from her chair that it fell to the floor. She came forward and gave him a hug, while Rebus looked at the faces around them – Ormiston, Claverhouse, Dr Colquhoun, and a WPC.
    They were in an Interview Room at Fettes, Lothian and Borders Police HQ. Colquhoun was wearing the same suit as the previous day and the same nervous look. Ormiston was picking up Candice’s chair. He’d been standing against one wall. Claverhouse was seated at the table beside Colquhoun, a pad of paper in front of him, pen poised above it.
    ‘She says she’s happy to see you,’ Colquhoun translated.
    ‘I’d never have guessed.’ Candice was wearing new clothes: denims too long for her and turned up four inches at the ankle; a black woollen v-neck jumper. Her skiing jacket was hanging over the back of her chair.
    ‘Get her to sit down again, will you?’ Claverhouse said. ‘We’re pushed for time.’
    There was no chair for Rebus, so he stood next to Ormiston and the WPC. Candice went back to the story she’d been telling, but glanced regularly towards him. He noticed that beside Claverhouse’s pad of paper sat a brown folder and an A4-sized envelope. On top of the envelope sat a black and white surveillance shot of Tommy Telford.
    ‘This man,’ Claverhouse asked, tapping the photo, ‘she knows him?’
    Colquhoun asked, then listened to her answer. ‘She …’ He cleared his throat. ‘She hasn’t had any direct dealings with him.’ Her two-minute commentary reduced to this. Claverhouse dipped into the envelope, spread more photos before her. Candice tapped one of them.
    ‘Pretty-Boy,’ Claverhouse said. He picked up the photo of Telford again. ‘But she’s had dealings with this man, too?’
    ‘She’s …’ Colquhoun mopped his face. ‘She’s saying something about Japanese people … Oriental businessmen.’
    Rebus shared a look with Ormiston, who shrugged.
    ‘Where was this?’ Claverhouse asked.
    ‘In a car … more than one car. You know, a sort of convoy.’
    ‘She was in one of the cars?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Where did they go?’
    ‘They headed out of town, stopping once or twice.’
    ‘Juniper Green,’ Candice said, quite clearly.
    ‘Juniper Green,’ Colquhoun repeated.
    ‘They stopped there?’
    ‘No, they stopped before that.’
    ‘To do what?’
    Colquhoun spoke with Candice again. ‘She doesn’t know. She thinks one of the drivers went into a shop for some cigarettes. The others all seemed to be looking at a building, as if they were interested in it, but not saying anything.’
    ‘What building?’
    ‘She doesn’t know.’
    Claverhouse looked exasperated. She wasn’t giving him much of anything, and Rebus knew that if there was nothing she could trade, Crime Squad would dump herstraight back on the street. Colquhoun was all wrong for this job, completely out of his depth.
    ‘Where did they go after Juniper Green?’
    ‘Just drove around the countryside. For two or three hours, she thinks. They would stop sometimes and get out, but just to look at the scenery. Lots of hills and …’ Colquhoun checked something. ‘Hills and flags.’
    ‘Flags? Flying from buildings?’
    ‘No, stuck into the ground.’
    Claverhouse gave Ormiston a look of hopelessness.
    ‘Golf courses,’ Rebus said. ‘Try describing a golf course to her, Dr Colquhoun.’
    Colquhoun did so, and she nodded agreement, beaming at Rebus. Claverhouse was looking