Exit Music

'No.' Riordan was moving towards the door. Goodyear mouthed the word 'sorry' at Clarke as the pair of them followed their host into the hallway.

Back in the car, Clarke told Goodyear not to worry. 'I think we'd had about all we were going to get.'

'All the same, I should have left the talking to you.'

'A lesson learned,' Clarke said, turning the ignition.

13

'What's Sonny Jim doing here?' Rebus asked. He was leaning back in his chair, feet up on the desk, the remote for the video recorder in his hand, having just frozen the TV picture.

'He's on secondment from Torphichen,' Clarke stated. Rebus stared at her, but she refused to make eye contact. Todd Goodyear had his hand stretched out for shaking. Rebus turned his attention to it, but ignored the offer. Goodyear let his arm fall back to his side and Clarke gave a vexed sigh.

'Anything good on the box?' she eventually asked.

'That video you wanted.' Rebus seemed already to have dismissed the new arrival from his mind. 'Come and take a look.' He let the programme run again, but turned the sound most of the way down.

A panel of politicians and pundits was being asked questions by a sawy-looking audience. Large letters on the floor between the two groups spelt out the word EDINBURGH.

'Filmed at The Hub,' Rebus explained. 'I went to a jazz concert there, recognised it straight off.'

You like jazz?' Goodyear asked, only to be ignored.

'Do you see who I see?' Rebus was asking Clarke.

'Megan Macfarlane.'

'Funny she didn't mention it,' Rebus mused. 'When the presenter was doing the introductions, he said she's number two in the SNP and likely to take over when her leader jacks it in. Making her, in the presenter's words, “candidate for president of an independent Scottish state”.'

'And the rest of the panel?'

'Labour, Tories, and Lib Dems.'

'Plus Todorov.' The poet was seated next to the presenter at the

semicircular desk. He seemed relaxed, doodling with his pen on some paper. 'How's he doing?'

'Knows more about politics than I do,' Rebus admitted, 'and seems to have an opinion on everything.'

Goodyear had folded his arms and was concentrating on the screen. Rebus gave Clarke another look, this time achieving eye contact. She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes slightly, warning him off. Rebus turned towards Goodyear.

'You know I helped put your grandad away?'

'Ancient history,' the young man said.

'Maybe so, but if it's going to be an issue, best tell me now.'

'It's not an issue.' Goodyear was still staring at the screen.

'What's the deal with this woman Macfarlane?'

'She's a Scot Nat MSP,' Clarke explained. 'Has a vested interest in us not shaking things up.'

'Because of all the Russian tycoons in town?' Goodyear saw that Clarke was impressed. 'I read the papers,' he explained. 'So Macfarlane had a little chat, but neglected to say that she knew the victim?'

'That's the size of it.' Rebus was showing more interest in the new recruit.

'Well, she's a politician. Last thing she wants is bad PR – and being linked to a murder inquiry probably counts as a negative.'

Goodyear offered a shrug, analysis complete.

The TV show was coming to an end, the dapper presenter announcing that the following week's episode would be coming from Hull. Rebus turned off the tape and stretched his spine.

'Anyway,' he asked, 'where've you two been?'

'Riordan,' Clarke stated, starting to fill him in on the meeting.

Halfway through, Hawes and Tibbet returned and had to be introduced to Todd Goodyear. Hawes had brought cakes for the office, and apologised to Goodyear that there wasn't one left over.

'I don't have a sweet tooth,' he replied with a shake of the head. Tibbet had spent a few months in uniform at Torphichen, just before his promotion to CID, and asked about old colleagues.

Rebus got stuck into his slice of caramel shortbread while Clarke boiled the kettle. She checked, but there was no sign of Macrae.

'Meeting at HQ,' Rebus explained as she placed a mug on his desk. Then, in an undertone: 'Have you cleared the Sundance Kid with him?'

'Not yet.' She glanced over to where Goodyear was chatting

easily with Tibbet and Hawes, and even managing to make them both laugh.

'Bringing a uniform in on a murder case?' He kept his voice low.

'Sure you know what you're doing?'

'DCI Macrae put me in charge.'

'Meaning you're responsible for any and all fuck-ups.'

'Thanks for reminding me.'

'How much do you know about him?'

'I know he's young and he's keen, and he's spent too long hanging around with a dead weight.'

'I hope you're not drawing parallels, DS Clarke.' Rebus slurped from the mug.

'Perish the thought, DI Rebus.' She looked towards Goodyear again. 'I'm just giving him a taster, that's all – couple of days and he'll be back to West End. Besides, Macrae wanted a few more recruits to the cause…'

Rebus nodded slowly, slid from his chair and wandered over, his hand landing on Goodyear's shoulder.

'It was you who took the statement from Nancy Sievewright?' he checked. Goodyear nodded. 'When she said she'd just been passing by, did you get any sort of an inkling?'

The young man thought for a moment, holding his bottom lip between his teeth. 'Not really,' he said at last.

Tfou either did or you didn't.'

'In which case, I didn't.'

Rebus nodded, turning to Hawes and Tibbet. 'What did you get in Great Stuart Street?'

'Gill Morgan does live there, and she knows Nancy Sievewright.'

Rebus stared at Hawes. 'But?'

Tibbet didn't want to be left out. 'But,' he said, 'we got the feeling she was parroting something she'd been told to say.'

Rebus turned back to Goodyear. 'And DC Tibbet can tell when someone's spinning him a line… What does that tell you?'

Goodyear gave his lip another gnaw. 'She's asked a friend to cover for her, because she was lying to us that night.'

'Lying to you,' Rebus corrected him, 'and you didn't even know it.'

Having made his point, he seemed to dismiss the constable again, turning to Hawes and Tibbet. 'What's Morgan like?'

Hawes: 'Lives in a nice flat… doesn't seem to be sharing with anyone.'

'Just her name on the door,' Tibbet added.

'Works as a model, so she says. But no jobs today. If you're asking me, though, she's got credit at the Bank of Mum and Dad.'

'Different league from Sievewright,' Rebus commented, waiting for Clarke to nod agreement. 'So how do they know one another?'

Hawes and Tibbet seemed at a loss. Rebus made a tutting sound, a teacher whose star pupils had eventually slipped up.

'I think they just know each other socially,' Tibbet blurted out.

Rebus glared at him. 'Attend the same regattas, you mean?'

Hawes felt compelled to come to her partner's defence. 'She wasn't that posh.'

'Just making a point, Phyl,' Rebus told her.

'Maybe we should bring her in,' Clarke suggested.

“Your call, Shiv,' Rebus reminded her. “You're the one Macrae's put in charge.'

This was news to Hawes and Tibbet; news to Goodyear, too, by the look of it. He was studying Rebus as though wondering how a sergeant could suddenly outrank an inspector. The ringing phone broke the silence. Rebus, being closest, picked it up.

'Todorov inquiry, DI Rebus speaking.'

'Oh… hello.' The voice was male and tremulous. 'I called earlier…'

Rebus caught Hawes's eye. 'About a woman, sir? We appreciate you taking the trouble to phone back.'

Tes, well…'

'So what is it I can do for you, Mr…?'

'Do I have to give my name?'

'This can be as confidential as you like, sir, but a name would be nice.'

'By “confidential” you mean…?'

7 mean spit it out! Rebus wanted to yell into the receiver. But instead he kept his voice level and pleasant, thinking of something he'd once been told: sincerity is everything – when you can fake that, the sky's the limit.