'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.

33.

'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 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 officeyour 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'twe'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 been talking freely.'

'I've told you it was nothing to do with us, though.'

Fox nodded. 'You know why they were in town in the first place?'

'Looking for someone.'

'Do you know who?'

'Some guy with a haulage business.'

'His name's Hamish Wright. Same surname as you.'

Wright licked his lips, looking again to left and right, as though seeking an escape route. Fox took a step towards him.

'Do you drink at the Gifford Inn, Anthony?'

'Sometimes.'

'Three weeks back, Hamish Wright called that pub. He spoke to you.'

'Not true.'

'Staff say differently.' Fox took out his phone and got the shot of the haulier's phone bill onscreen. 'Plus there are calls here from Hamish Wright to his nephew. What would happen if I phoned that particular number?'

'Search me.'

Fox tapped the number in and waited. The phone in Wright's pocket had been set to silent, but both men could hear it as it vibrated.

'Want to answer that?' Fox said.

'What the hell is it you want?'

Fox ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket. 'You're Hamish Wright's nephew,' he stated. 'Close to your uncle, are you?'

'What of it?'

'Why did he call you on the pub landline?'

'Can't always get a signal in there.'

Fox nodded. 'Must have been important, though. This wasn't long before he went missing.'

'He's not missinghe's away on business.'

'That's the story your aunt gave, but we both know she's lying.' Fox paused. 'I'm assuming all this would come as news to the Stark gang. But does your employer know?'

Wright shook his head.

'Sure about that?'

'Positive.'

'You know it's not just your uncle they were looking for? He has something they think belongs to them.'

'Oh?'

'Are we back to playing games, Anthony? Do you know where Hamish is? Is he somewhere in the city?'

'Haven't a clue.'

'Because he's high on our list of suspects, as you can imagine.'

'My uncle couldn't kill anyone.'

'He worked for the Starks, peddled drugs and who knows what else around the country for themhe's not exactly Mother Teresa.'

'I don't know anything about that.'

'So you wouldn't object to me looking at your client records?'

'Soon as you get a warrant.'

'Mind you, nobody says it has to go through the books, eh?'

'Come back with a warrant and you can look all you like.' It was Wright's turn to fold his arms. He looked almost smug, which told Fox he was on the wrong trail.

'What was it he needed to talk to you about, Anthony? Did he tell you he was about to make a run for it?'

'Nothing like thatjust family stuff.'

Fox was growing exasperated, his stock of ammo running low. 'Be a shame if Joe Stark did find out who you really are...' He turned and opened his car door.

'You wouldn't do that.'

'Then tell me the truth, Anthony.' Fox looked back over his shoulder and watched as Wright's Adam's apple bobbed.

'He'll come out of hiding once this has blown over.'

'Have you talked to him? You know where he is?'

Wright shook his head. 'But that was always the plan, once he knew they were on to him. Less his family knew, the better.'

'You know it's not going to blow over, right? Not until Joe Stark knows who killed his son. Your uncle is going to be living in fear until the whole gang's put away.'

Wright nodded his understanding.

Fox made to get into the car, but then paused. 'Your dad is Hamish's brother? Have you talked it over with him?'

'He passed away last year. Maybe you saw it in the paperDad loved his motorbikes, so we got a dozen bikers as a cortege.'

Fox gestured towards a gleaming bike parked near the loading bay. 'Yours?' he guessed.

'And my dad's before mehe left me five in his will.'

'Lucky you,' Fox said quietly, wondering suddenly about his own father's willdid one even exist?

Beth Hastie watched him from her unmarked car. She had slid down low in her seat, but she doubted he would have noticed her if she'd been standing naked on the roof. Malcolm Fox was a man with things on his mind. She knew who he'd been talking to, toothe same man who had been present when Chick Carpenter had taken a beating. Why the sudden interest? After Fox had gone, the guy had approached a parked motorbike, taking out a handkerchief to polish its chrome. Hastie lifted her phone and called CC Self Storage. A woman's voice answered.

'Hello,' Hastie said. 'This is going to sound really daft, but I answered an ad from a guy selling a spare crash helmet and I've gone and lost his details. All I remember is he said he worked for you. Could that be right?'

'Must be Anthonyhe's bike-daft.'

'Anthony, yes. And his surname's...?'

'Wright. Anthony Wright. If you hold on, I can probably fetch him-'

But Hastie had already ended the call. She narrowed her eyes and ran her bottom lip between her teeth. Then she made another call.

'Yes?' the voice on the other end said.

'Can you talk?'

'Make it quick.'

'I'm at the self-storage place.'

'And?'

'I still think it needs to be done in daylight. But here's the thingthe employee who was there that day with Carpenter?'

'Yes?'

'His name's Anthony Wright.'