Exit Music

He rested the palm of his hand against her shoulder. 'Siobhan, it's fine,' he assured her. 'But there is a fly of sorts in the ointment… SCD could be watching Cafferty.'

'What?'

'I had a run-in with them last night.' Seeing the look on her face, he withdrew his hand and held it up in a show of appeasement.

'I'll explain later, but the thing is, they want me keeping my distance.'

'Then that's what you should do.'

'Absolutely,' he said, making to hand her Stone's business card.

'And what I want you to do is ring this guy Stone and tell him DI Rebus needs an urgent word.'

'What?'

'Use the phone in the Ox – don't want him tracing your mobile.

You stay anonymous, say Rebus wants a meet at the petrol station.

Then hang up.'

'Christ's sake, John…' She was staring at the card.

'Hey, another forty-eight hours and I'll be out of your hair.'

“You're suspended from duty and you're still in my hair.'

'Like a brush through the tangles, eh?' Rebus said with a smile.

'More like malfunctioning curling tongs,' Clarke told him, but she headed back into the bar anyway to make the call.

'Took your time,' was Cafferty's opening line. He was on the same footbridge across the canal, hands in the pockets of his long camel hair coat.

'Where's your car?' Rebus asked, glancing back towards the deserted patch of wasteland.

'I walked. Only takes ten minutes.'

'And no bodyguard?'

'No need,' Cafferty stated.

Rebus lit another cigarette. 'So you knew I was here the other night?'

'It was Sergei's driver who recognised you.' The one who'd stared daggers at Rebus, that night at the hotel. 'Were you with us all the way to Granton?'

'It was a nice night for a drive.' Rebus tried blowing smoke towards Cafferty's face, but the breeze whipped it away.

'It's all legit, you know. Follow us all you like.'

“Thanks, I will.'

'Sergei loves Scotland, that's what it comes down to. His dad used to read him Treasure Island. I had to take him to Queen Street Gardens. Pond there's supposed to be what gave Robert Louis Stevenson the idea.'

'Fascinating.' Rebus was staring at the canal's glassy surface.

Might only be three or four feet deep, but he'd known men drown in it.

'He's thinking of bringing his businesses here,' Cafferty said 'Didn't know we had a lot of tin and zinc mines.'

'Well, maybe not all his businesses.'

'I can't see the point really – it's not as if we don't have an extradition treaty with Russia.'

'You sure about that?' Cafferty said with a teasing smile. 'Anyway, we do have a policy on political asylum, don't we?'

'Not sure your pal fits the bill.'

Cafferty just smiled again.

'That night in the hotel,' Rebus pushed on, 'you and Todorov, then you and Andropov, plus a government minister called Bakewell…

what was that really all about?'

'I thought I'd already explained – I'd no idea who it was I bought a drink for.'

Tfou didn't know that Todorov and Andropov grew up together?'

'No.'

Rebus nicked ash into the air. 'So what was it you were discussing with the Minister for Economic Development?'

'I'm betting you've asked Sergei the same question.'

'How do you think he answered?'

'He probably told you they were talking about economic development – it happens to be true.'

'You seem to be in the market for a lot of land, Cafferty. Andropov puts up the money, you act as his factor?'

'All above board.'

'Does he know about your history as a landlord? Flats stuffed with tenants, fire risks ignored, dole cheques lifted and cashed…'

“You really are clutching at straws, aren't you? Anyone would think you were in there.' Cafferty jabbed a finger towards the canal.

You own a flat on Blair Street, it's let to Nancy Sievewright and Eddie Gentry.' Just the two tenants, now Rebus thought of it; unusual for one of Cafferty's fire traps. 'Nancy's friendly with Sol Goodyear,' he went on, 'so friendly, in fact, that she gets her gear from him. Same night Sol gets himself stabbed in Haymarket, I'Nancy trips over Todorov's body at the foot of Sol's lane.' Rebus I had brought his face close to the gangster's. 'See what I'm getting f #t?' he hissed.

'Not really.'

'And now the consulate want to spirit Todorov's body away.'

'Those straws I mentioned, Rebus, I'm losing count of them.'

'They're not straws, Cafferty, they're chains, and guess who it is they seem to be winding themselves around?'

'Steady,' Cafferty cautioned. 'With language like that, you might want to start writing a bit of poetry yourself.'

'Problem with that is, the only words I can find to rhyme with “Cafferty” are “evil” and “bastard”.'

The gangster grinned, showing off expensive dental work. Then he sniffed the air and strolled to the far side of the bridge. 'I grew up not too far from here, did you know that?'

'I thought it was Craigmillar.'

'But I'd an aunt and uncle in Gorgie, they looked after me when my mum was working. Dad legged it a month before I was due.' He turned towards Rebus. “You didn't grow up in the city, did you?'

'Fife,' Rebus stated.

Tou won't remember the abattoir then. Occasionally, you'd get a bull making a break for it. The alarm would sound and us kids would be kept indoors until the sharpshooter arrived. I remember one time, I watched from the window. Bloody great beast it was, with snot and steam belching from it, kicking up its legs at the thought of all that bloody freedom.' He paused. 'Right up until the moment the gunman went down on one knee, got his aim right, and shot it in the head. Those legs buckled and the gleam left its eyes. For a time there, I used to think that was me – the last free bull.'

Tou're full of bull all right,' Rebus retorted.

'Thing is,' Cafferty said with a smile that was almost ru0ful, 'nowadays, I think maybe it's you, Rebus. You're bucking and kicking and snorting, because you can't deal with the idea of me being legit.'

'That's because “idea” is as far as it gets.' He paused, nicking the remains of his cigarette into the water. 'Why the hell did you bring me here, Cafferty?'

The gangster shrugged. 'Not too many chances left for these little tete-a-tetes. And when Sergei told me you'd followed us that night… well, maybe I was just looking for the opportunity.'

'I'm touched.'

'I heard on the news that DI Starr's been shipped in to head up the inquiry. They've already put you out to pasture, haven't they?

Just as well the pension's healthy…'

'And all of it clean.'

'Siobhan's got her chance to shine now.'

'She's a match for you, Cafferty.'

'Let's wait and see.'

'Just so long as I've got a ringside seat.'

Cafferty's attention had shifted to the high brick wall, beyond which lay the development site. 'Nice talking to you, Rebus. Enjoy that walk into the sunset.'

But Rebus didn't budge. 'Have you heard about the Russian guy in London? Got to be careful who you play with, Cafferty.'

'No one's about to poison me, Rebus. Sergei and me, we see things the same way. Few years from now, Scotland's going to be independent – not a shred of doubt about that. Sitting on thirty years' worth of North Sea oil and God alone knows how much more in the Atlantic. Worst-case scenario, we do a deal with Westminster and end up with eighty or ninety per cent of the cut.' Cafferty gave a slow shrug. 'And then we'll go and spend the money on our usual leisure pursuits – booze, drugs and gambling. Put a supercasino in every city, and watch the profits stack up…'

'Another of your silent invasions, eh?'

'Soviets always did think there'd be revolution in Scotland. Won't matter to you, though, will it? You'll be out of the game for good.'

Cafferty gave a little wave of the hand and turned his back.

Rebus stood his ground a bit longer but knew there was little to be gained from sticking around. All the same, he hesitated. The Cafferty of the other evening had been an actor on a stage, with props including the car and the driver. Tonight's Cafferty was different, more reflective. Lots of faces in Cafferty's wardrobe… a mask for every occasion. Rebus considered offering him a lift home, but why the hell would he want to do that? Instead he turned and headed back to his car, lighting another cigarette on the way. The gangster's story about the bull stayed with him. Was that how retirement would feel, all that strange and disconcerting freedom, but brutally short?