Exit Music

Next to the file on the table sat Clarke's mobile phone, and next to that a pad of paper and a pen. Goodyear, too, was bringing out a notebook.

'Now then, Nancy,' Clarke began. 'Want to tell us what you were really up to the night you found the victim?'

'What?' Sievewright's mouth stayed open long after the question had left it.

'The night you were out at your friend's flat…' Clarke made show of consulting the file. 'Gill Morgan.' Her eyes met Sievewright's.

Tour good friend Gill.'

Tes?'

Your story was that you'd been round to her flat and were on your way home. But that was a lie, wasn't it?'

'No.'

'Well, somebody's lying to us, Nancy.'

'What's she been saying?' The voice taking on a harder edge.

We're led to believe, Nancy, that you were on your way to her flat, not from it. Did you have the drugs on you when you tripped over the body?'

'What drugs?'

'The ones you were going to share with Gill.'

'She's a lying cow!'

'I thought she was your friend? Enough of a friend to stick to the story you gave her.'

'She's lying,' Sievewright repeated, eyes reduced to slits.

'Why would she do that, Nancy? Why would a friend do that?'

Tou'd have to ask her.'

'We already have. Thing is, her story fits with other facts in the case. A woman was seen hanging around outside the car park…'

'I already told you, I never saw her.'

'Maybe because you were her?'

'I look nothing like that picture you showed me!'

'See, she was offering herself for sex, and we know why some women will do that, don't we?'

'Do we?'

'Money for drugs, Nancy.'

'What?'

'You needed the money to buy drugs you could sell on to Gill.'

'She'd already given me the money, you dozy cow!'

Clarke didn't bother replying; just waited for Nancy 's outburst to sink in. The teenager's face crumpled and she knew she'd said more than she should.

'What I mean is…' she stumbled, but the lie wouldn't come.

'Gill Morgan gave you money to buy her some dope,' Clarke stated.

'To be honest with you – and this is for the record – I couldn't give a monkey's. Doesn't sound to me like you're some big-shot dealer.

If you had been, you'd have scarpered that night rather than sticking around to wait for us. But that makes me think you didn't have anything on you at the time, which means you were either waiting to score or on your way to score.'

'Yes?'

'I wouldn't mind knowing which it was.'

'The second one.'

'On your way to meet your dealer?'

Sievewright just nodded. 'Nancy Sievewright nods,' Clarke said for the benefit of the slowly spooling tapes. 'So you weren't hanging around outside the car park?'

'I already said, didn't I?'

'Just want to make sure.' Clarke made show of turning to another page in the file. 'Ms Morgan has ambitions to be an actress,'

she stated.

Teah.'

'Ever seen her in anything?'

'Don't think she's been in anything.'

Tou sound sceptical.'

'First she was going to write for the papers, then it was TV presenting, then modelling…'

'What we might call a gadfly,' Clarke agreed.

Tou call it what you want.'

'Must be fun, though, hanging out with her?'

'She gets good invites,' Sievewright admitted.

'But she doesn't always take you with her?' Clarke guessed.

'Not often.' Sievewright shifted in her chair.

'I forget, how did you two meet?'

'At a party in the New Town… got talking to one of her pals in a pub, and he said I could tag along with them.'

'You know who Gill's father is?'

'I know he must have a few quid.'

'He runs a bank.'

'Figures.'

Clarke turned to another sheet of paper. Really, she wanted Rebus there, so she could bounce ideas off him, and let him do some of the running while she collected her thoughts between rounds.

Todd Goodyear looked stiff and uncertain and was gnawing away at his pen like a beaver with a particularly juicy length of timber.

'She works on one of the city's ghost tours, did you know that?'

Clarke asked eventually.

'Can I get a drink or something?'

'We're nearly done.'

Sievewright scowled, like a kid on the verge of a major sulk.

Clarke repeated her question.

'She took me along with her one time,' the teenager admitted.

'How was it?'

Sievewright shrugged. 'Okay, I suppose. Bit boring really.'

Tou weren't scared?' The question received a snorted response.

Clarke closed the file slowly, as if winding up. But she had a few more questions. She waited until Sievewright was readying to get up before asking the first of them. 'Remember the cloak Gill wears?'

'What cloak?'

'When she's being the Mad Monk.'

'What about it?'

'Ever seen it at her flat?'

'No.'

'Has she ever been to your flat?'

'Came to a party once.'

Clarke pretended to spend a few moments considering this. “You know I'm not going to be chasing you for drugs offences, Nancy, but I wouldn't mind knowing your dealer's address.'

'No chance.' The teenager sounded adamant. She was still poised to get up; in her mind, she was already leaving, meaning she'd want to give quick answers to any further questions. Clarke rapped her fingernails against the closed file.

'But you know him pretty well?'

'Says who?'

'I'm guessing you had some dope on you at that first party; explains how you made friends so quickly.'

'So?'

'So you're not going to give me a name?'

'Bloody right I'm not.'

'How did you meet him?'

'Through a friend.'

Tour flatmate? The one with the eyeliner?'

'None of your business.'

'The day I was there, quite an aroma was wafting from the living room…' Sievewright stayed tight-lipped. Tou in touch with your parents, Nancy?'

The question seemed to throw the young woman. 'Dad did a runner when I was ten.'

'And your mum?'

'Lives in Wardieburn.'

Not the city's most salubrious neighbourhood. 'See her much?'

'Is this turning into a social work interview?'

Clarke smiled indulgently. 'Had any more trouble from Mr Anderson?'

'Not yet.'

Tou think he'll be back?'

'He better think twice.'

'Funny thing is, he works for Gill's dad's bank.'

'So what?'

'Gill's never taken you to any of their parties? No possibility Mr Anderson could have met you there?'

'No,' Sievewright stated. Clarke let the silence linger, then leaned back in her chair and placed her palms on the tabletop.

'Again, just to be clear, you're not a prostitute and he's not one of your clients?' Sievewright glared at her, forming some sort of comeback. Clarke didn't give her the chance. 'I think that's us, then,' she said. 'I want to thank you for coming in.'

'Didn't have much choice,' Sievewright complained.

'Interview ends at…' Clarke checked the time, announced it for the benefit of the recorder, then switched the machine off and ejected both tapes, sealing them in separate polythene bags. She handed one to Sievewright. 'Thanks again.' The young woman snatched the bag. 'PC Goodyear will see you out.'

'Do I get a lift home?'

'What are we, a taxi service?'

Sievewright gave a curl of the lip, letting Clarke know what she thought of that. Goodyear led her outside, while Clarke gave a twitch of her head to let him know she'd see him upstairs. Once the door was closed, Clarke lifted her phone to her ear.

Tou caught all of that?'

'Pretty much,' Rebus's voice said. She could hear him lighting up.

'This is going to cost us both a fortune in phone bills.'

'That depends on where you do the interviews,' he told her.

'Anywhere outside the station, I can sit in. It's only Gayfield itself Corbyn told me to avoid.'

Clarke slipped the cassette tape into the file and tucked it under her arm. 'Do you think I got everything I could out of her?' she asked.