Exit Music

Tou know her, then?'

'She came to a party a while back.'

'I hear that she throws a good party, too. You could offer to play a set.'

'I'd rather stick pins in my eyes.'

“You're probably right, same as I'd rather listen to Dick Gaughan than James Blunt.' Rebus sniffed loudly, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket. 'This Sol character… got an address for him?'

'Afraid not.'

'Not to worry.' Rebus was over at the window again, putting the handkerchief back as he gazed down on the street. Not long now till Nancy Sievewright returned. Top of Leith Street, then North Bridge and Hunter Square… 'Do you sing as well as play?'

'A little bit.'

'But not in a band?'

'No.'

Tou should get yourself up to Fife. Friend of mine says there's some sort of acoustic scene up there.'

Gentry was nodding. 'I've played Anstruther.'

'Funny to think of the East Neuk as the centre of anything…

used to be it was shut winter and weekends.'

Gentry smiled. 'Wait there, will you?' He was gone from the living room less than a minute. When he came back, he was holding something out towards Rebus – a CD in a clear plastic pocket.

There was a folded square of white paper with the titles of three tracks listed. 'My demo,' Gentry announced proudly.

'That's great,' Rebus said. 'After I've played it, do you want it back?'

'I can burn another one,' Gentry said with a shake of the head.

Rebus patted the disc against the palm of his left hand. 'I really appreciate that, Eddie. As long as you appreciate that it's not a bung of some kind.'

Gentry looked horrified. 'No, I just thought…'

But Rebus touched him on the shoulder, and assured him he was only joking. 'I'd best be off,' he said. 'Thanks again.' He gave a little wave with the CD and made for the hallway and the front door.

With the door closed behind him, he started down the stairs, just as Nancy Sievewright was making her way up, still holding the sealed polythene bag with the interview tape inside. Rebus offered her a nod and a smile, but said nothing. All the same, he could feel her watching his descent. At the bottom, he looked up – sure enough, she hadn't moved.

'Just told him,' Rebus called to her.

'Told who what?' she called back.

Tour flatmate Eddie,' he answered. 'The one you tried fobbing us off with…'

He exited the tenement and unlocked his car. It was parked illegally but had managed to avoid a ticket.

'My lucky day,' he told himself. He'd finally got round to installing a CD player in the Saab. He drew Gentry's offering from its sleeve and slotted it home, then studied the titles of the songs.

Meg's Mons.

Minstrel in Pain.

Reverend Walker Blues.

He liked them already. With the volume low, he took out his phone and called Siobhan Clarke.

'Tell me you're in the pub,' was her opening line.

' Blair Street, actually – and you owe me twenty notes.'

'I don't believe you.'

'You won't when I tell you.' He paused for dramatic effect.

'Sievewright gets her stuff from someone called Sol. Her flatmate thinks he's named himself after the sun, but we know differently, don't we?'

'Sol Goodyear?'

'I take it Todd's not within earshot?'

'Making me a coffee.'

'Isn't that sweet of him?'

'Sol Goodyear?' she repeated, as if she still couldn't take it in.

Eventually, she asked him what he was listening to.

' Nancy 's flatmate plays guitar.'

'I'm assuming he's not in the car with you.'

'Probably shouting the odds at Sievewright as we speak. But he did give me a demo he made.'

'That was good of him. Bet you can't remember the last time you listened to anything made after 1975.'

Tou gave me that Elbow album…'

'True.' The tangent had run its course. 'So now we need to add Todd's brother to the list?'

'Nice to stay busy,' Rebus consoled her. 'Do you have a time for Jim Bakewell yet?'

'Haven't been able to track him down.'

'And Macrae?'

'Wants to add another twenty or so bodies to the team.'

'As long as they're warm ones…'

'He's even thinking of bringing Derek Starr back from Fettes.'

'Which would mean relegating you to vice-captain?'

'If only I had some vices…'

'Should have listened to me, Shiv. I could've given you a few tips.

Will I see you later at the pub?'

'Might have an early night actually… no offence.'

'None taken, but don't think I'll forget about that twenty.' Rebus ended the call and turned the music up a little. Gentry was humming along to the melody, and Rebus wasn't sure if it was meant to be picked up by the mic. It was still the first track, 'Meg's Mons '.

He wondered if Meg was a real woman. Peering at the slip of paper in the clear plastic sleeve, he thought he could make out writing on the other side. He pulled out the track listing and unfolded it. Sure enough, on the back was written the name of the studio where Gentry had recorded his demo.

CR Studios.

25

Rebus sat in front of his own personal video monitor. Graeme MacLeod had placed him in a corner of the room, and had piled the videotapes next to him. Edinburgh city centre's west end, the night of the Todorov killing.

“You're going to get me shot,' MacLeod had complained, fetching the tapes from their locked cupboard.

Rebus had been sitting for an hour in the Central Monitoring Facility, sometimes hitting 'search' and sometimes 'pause'. There were cameras on Shandwick Place, Princes Street and Lothian Road. Rebus was looking for evidence of Sergei Andropov or his driver, or maybe Cafferty. Or anyone else attached to the case, come to that. So far he had nothing at all to show for his efforts.

The hotel would have its own surveillance, of course, but he doubted the manager would hand it over without a fight, and couldn't see himself persuading Siobhan to put in the request.

There was something soothing about the unhurried voyeurism going on around him. One act of vandalism reported, and one known shoplifter tracked along George Street. The camera operators seemed as passive as any daytime TV viewers, and Rebus wondered if there might be some reality show to be made from it. He liked the way the staff could control the remote cameras using a joystick, zooming in on anything suspicious. It didn't feel like the police state the media were always predicting. All the same, if he worked here every day, he'd be careful of himself on the street, for fear of being caught picking his nose or scratching his backside.

Careful in shops and restaurants, too.

And probably with no interest in the TV at home.

MacLeod was back at Rebus's shoulder. 'Anything?' he asked.

'I know you've been over this footage more than once, Graeme, but there are a few faces I may know that you don't.'

'I'm not having a moan.'

'If I were in your shoes, I'd be thinking the same.'

'Just a pity we didn't have a camera in King's Stables Road.'

'Hardly anyone uses it at night, I've noticed that. Plenty of people turning into Castle Terrace, but almost no one into King's Stables.'

'And no woman in a hood?'

'Not yet.'

MacLeod consoled Rebus with a pat on the shoulder, then went back to work. It didn't make sense to Rebus: why would some woman be hanging around there, doling out offers of sex? They only had the one witness's word for it. Could it have been some fantasy he'd been harbouring? Rebus felt his vertebrae snap back into place as he stretched his spine. He wanted a break, but knew if he took one he might not be tempted back. He could always go home – it was what everybody wanted. But then his phone rang and he scooped it from his pocket. Caller ID: Siobhan.

“What's up?' he asked, cupping the phone to his mouth so he wouldn't be overheard.

'Megan Macfarlane's just called DCI Macrae. She's not happy you've been harassing Sergei Andropov.' She paused. 'Want to tell me about it?'