Exit Music

'On account,' Rebus told her, 'of the hood she always wears.'

14

Gary Walsh was in the car park's security shack, having relieved Joe Wills about an hour before. With the jacket of his uniform undone and his shirt tieless, he looked fairly relaxed.

'Money for old rope, this,' Rebus teased him as he knocked on the half-open door. Walsh slid his feet from the tabletop and pulled out his earphones, turning off the CD player. 'What're you listening to?'

'Primal Scream.'

'And what would you have done if I'd been one of the bosses?'

'Reaper's the only one we ever see.'

'So you said… Anyone told her about the murder?'

'She got it from a reporter.'

'And?' Rebus was studying a newspaper next to the radio: that afternoon's Evening News with the crossword already done.

Walsh just shrugged. 'Wanted to see the blood.'

'She sounds lovely.'

'She's all right.'

'Got a name for her?'

Walsh was studying him. Tou nicked anybody yet?'

'Not yet.'

What do you want to talk to Cath for?'

'That's her name – Cath?'

'Cath Mills.'

'Does she look anything like this?'

Walsh took the picture of the hooded woman from Rebus and stared at it unblinkingly, then shook his head.

'Sure?' Rebus said.

'Nothing like her.' Walsh handed the picture back. Who's it supposed to be?'

'Witness saw a woman hanging around outside on the night Todorov was murdered. It's a question of ruling people out.'

'Well, you can rule the Reaper out straight away – Cath wasn't here that night.'

'All the same, I'll take her phone number.'

Walsh pointed to a corkboard behind the door. 'It's up there.'

Rebus started jotting down the mobile number. 'How often does she drop by?'

'Maybe a couple of times a week – once on Joe's shift, once on mine.'

'Ever had trouble with the local prossies?'

'Didn't know there were any.'

Rebus was closing his notebook when the buzzer sounded. Walsh was looking at one of the monitors: a driver was out of his car and standing at the exit barrier.

'Is there a problem?' Walsh asked into the microphone.

'Bloody thing's just chewed up my ticket.'

Walsh rolled his eyes for Rebus's benefit. 'Been doing that a lot,'

he told him. He pushed a button and the barrier started to rise, the driver getting back behind his steering wheel without so much as a 'thanks' or 'goodbye'.

'Going to have to close that exit,' Walsh muttered, 'till they come and fix it.'

'Never a dull moment, eh?'

Walsh gave a snort. 'This woman,' he said, rising to his feet, 'reckon she had anything to do with it?'

'Why do you ask?'

Walsh was buttoning his uniform. Tou don't get many women muggers, do you?'

'Not many,' Rebus conceded.

'And it was a mugging? I mean, papers say the guy's pockets were emptied.'

'Looks that way.' Rebus paused for a moment. Tou lock up at eleven, right?'

'Right.'

'That's pretty much when the body was found.'

'Oh aye?'

'But you didn't see anything?'

'Nothing.'

'You'd have driven right past Raeburn Wynd.'

Walsh just shrugged. 'I didn't see anything and I didn't hear anything. I certainly didn't see a woman in a cloak. Probably have

scared the life out of me, with that graveyard across the road…'

He broke off, brow furrowing.

'What is it?' Rebus asked.

'Probably nothing – just thinking about those ghost tours they do… dressing up in costumes, putting a fright on the tourists…'

'I don't think our mystery woman was in that sort of game.' But Rebus knew what he meant. You saw them at night, wandering up and down the Royal Mile: guides dressed as vampires or Godknew-what.

'Besides, I've never heard of them doing walking tours down here.'

'Cemetery's not safe enough,' Walsh agreed, ready to leave the kiosk. He'd picked up a glossy plastic sign with the words OUT OF ORDER on it. Rebus preceded him out.

'Ever get any hassle from that quarter?' Rebus asked.

'Couple of junkies wanting a handout… If you ask me, they beat that poor bugger up in the stairwell last year.'

Tour colleague told me about that – never solved?'

Walsh gave a snort, which was all the answer Rebus needed.

'Any idea which station did the investigating?'

'It was before I started here.' Walsh's eyes narrowed. 'Is it because this guy's foreign, or because he's a bigwig?'

'Not sure I get you.' They were heading down the ramp towards the exit level.

'Is that why you're spending so much time on it?'

'It's because he was murdered, Mr Walsh,' Rebus stated, getting out his mobile.

Megan Macfarlane had been to some meeting in Leith. Roddy Liddle said she could probably manage ten minutes at the Starbucks just uphill from the Parliament, so that was where Clarke and Todd Goodyear were waiting. Goodyear was drinking tea, while Clarke's own Americano had come with the requested extra shot of espresso. She'd also splashed out on two slices of carrot cake, though Goodyear had tried paying.

'My treat,' she'd insisted. Then had asked at the till for a receipt, just in case she could finesse it as an expense. They sat at a table near the window, with a view of the darkening Canongate. 'Daft place to put a parliament,' she commented.

'Out of sight, out of mind,' Goodyear offered.

She smiled at that, and asked him what he thought of CID so far. He considered for a moment before answering.

'I like that you've kept me on.'

'So far,' she warned.

'And you seem to click as a team -1 like that, too. The case itself…'

His voice drifted off.

'Spit it out.'

'I think maybe all of you – and this isn't a criticism – are a little bit in thrall to DI Rebus.'

'Can you be a “little bit” in thrall?'

'You know what I mean, though… he's old, experienced, seen a lot of action down the years. So when he has hunches, you tend to follow them.'

'It's just the way some cases go, Todd – you drop a pebble in water, and the ripples start to spread.'

'But it's not like that at all, is it?' He pulled his chair closer to the table, warming to his argument. 'It's actually linear. The crime is committed by a person, and the job of CID is to find them. Most of the time, that's pretty straightforward – they feel guilty and hand themselves in, or someone witnesses the crime, or they're already known to us and their prints or DNA give them away.' He paused. 'I get the feeling DI Rebus hates those sorts of case, the ones where the motive's too easy to spot.'

'You barely know DI Rebus Clarke prickled.

Goodyear seemed to sense he'd gone too far. 'All I mean is, he likes things to be complex, gives him more of a challenge.'

'Less to this than meets the eye – that's what you're saying?'

'I'm saying we should keep an open mind.'

'Thanks for the advice.' Clarke's voice was as chilled as the carrot cake. Goodyear stared into his mug and looked relieved when the door opened and Megan Macfarlane approached the table. She was toting about three kilos of ring-binder, which she let clatter to the floor. Roddy Liddle had gone to the counter to order their drinks.

'The hoops we have to go through,' Macfarlane complained. She gave Todd Goodyear a questioning smile and Clarke made the introductions.

'I'm a great fan,' Goodyear told the MSP. 'I admired the stand you took on the tram system.'

Tou wouldn't happen to have a few thousand friends who think the same way?' Macfarlane had collapsed into her chair, eyes staring ceilingwards.

'And I've always supported independence,' Goodyear went on.

She angled her head towards him before turning to Clarke.

'I like this one better,' she commented.

'Speaking of DI Rebus,' Clarke said, 'he's sorry he can't make it along this afternoon. But he was the one who happened to spot your Question Time appearance – we're wondering why you didn't mention it.'