Exit Music

'Wish my wife was that dirty.'

'Maybe if you plied her with Class A rather than Chardonnay…'

'Worth a shot, I suppose.'

'And they don't know you're watching them, Morris?'

Cafferty's voice, from the back of the room: 'Not a clue,' he growled happily.

'Didn't Chuck Berry get in trouble for something like this?'

'Getting a few ideas for the good lady, Roger?'

'Married twenty-odd years, Stuart.'

Til take that as a no…'

Rebus found himself on his knees in front of the screen. Roger and Stuart, with their wine and cigars, stuffed to the gills by Cafferty and now enjoying this very different form of corporate hospitality.

Roger Anderson.

Stuart Janney.

First Albannach's brightest and best…

'Michael will be gutted he missed this,' Janney added with a laugh. Meaning, no doubt, Sir Michael Addison. But Rebus reckoned Janney was dead wrong. He ejected the disc and went back to the one with the party on it. Bathroom blow-job, the donor bearing an uncanny resemblance to Gill Morgan, aspiring actress and Sir Michael's pampered stepdaughter. Same head had been bent over one of the coke trails in the living room. Rebus went back to the footage of the home cinema, tried to work out which DVD the group was watching. Kept his eyes glued to the two bankers, wondering if either of them would exhibit signs of clocking their boss's stepkid. Grounds for a revenge attack on Cafferty? Maybe so. But what were they doing there in the first place? Rebus could think of several reasons. From the bank statements, Rebus now knew that Cafferty kept his various onshore accounts with FAB. Added to which, he was going to introduce a new and wealthy client to the bank – Sergei Andropov. And maybe the pair of them would be looking to do a deal with FAB, a vast commercial loan to help them buy up hundreds of acres of Edinburgh.

Andropov was relocating, ducking out of Russia altogether to escape prosecution. Maybe he thought the Scottish Parliament could be persuaded not to extradite him. Maybe he was buying his way into a forthcoming independent Scotland. Small country; easy to become a very big fish…

Cafferty oiling the wheels.

Hosting a memorable party… and secretly taping it. For his own satisfaction? Or to be used against the men themselves?

Rebus couldn't see it having much effect on the likes of Janney

and Anderson. But now another man was rising to his feet from one of the sofas. Looked to Rebus as if only Cafferty and this man had been occupying the back row.

'Bathroom?' he enquired.

'Across the hall,' his host obliged. Yes, Cafferty wouldn't want him using the en suite through the wall; couldn't risk the camera being found.

'Won't ask why you need it, Jim,' Stuart Janney commented to a few rugby-club guffaws.

'Nothing sordid, Stuart,' the man called Jim responded, making his exit.

Jim Bakewell, Minister for Economic Development. Meaning Bakewell had lied at the Parliament, telling Siobhan he'd not met Cafferty until that night at the hotel.

'Try making a complaint to the Chief Constable now, Jimbo,'

Rebus muttered, stabbing a finger in Bakewell's direction.

There wasn't an awful lot more to the DVD. After half an hour, the spectators had wrung as much interest as possible from the show. There were three further members of the party who were new to Rebus. They looked like business types, ruddy-faced and big-bellied. Builders? Contractors? Maybe even councillors…

Rebus knew he could probably find out, but that would mean taking the recording. Which was fine, so long as no one noticed it was missing. If anyone found out Rebus had been here, Cafferty's defence team would have a field day.

'Oh aye, John? What defence team is that then?'

Yes, because where was the crime? Bugging flats you were renting?

Small beer – the magistrate would watch the DVDs with a good deal of interest, then stick the gangster with a pittance of a fine. Rebus made sure everything was switched off, no prints left behind, then headed downstairs and unlocked the safe again, replacing the box, keeping just the one disc for himself. Down the white marble hall and out into the sweet-smelling air, door secure behind him. He'd have to get Cafferty's keys back to him, but first he had some thinking to do. He took a left out of the gate and another left at the top of the road, heading for Bruntsfield Place and the first available taxi.

Eddie Gentry, replete with eyeliner and the red bandanna, opened the door to him.

'Nancy's out,' he said.

'Have you patched things up?'

'We had a frank exchange of views.'

Rebus smiled. 'Going to invite me in, Eddie? And by the way, I liked your CD.'

Gentry considered his options, then turned and pushed open the living-room door. Rebus followed him inside.

'Ever watch Big Brother, Eddie?' Rebus was making a circuit of the room, hands in pockets.

'Life's too short.'

'It is that,' Rebus seemed to agree. 'Tell you something I didn't spot when I was here before.'

'What?'

Rebus looked up. Your ceilings have been lowered.'

¦Yeah?'

Rebus nodded. 'Done before you moved in?'

'Suppose so.'

'There might be original features – cornices, ceiling roses… Why do you reckon the landlord would want them covered up?'

'Insulation?'

'How so?'

Gentry shrugged. 'Makes the rooms smaller, meaning easier to heat.'

'The rooms are all the same, then? Fake ceilings?'

'I'm not an architect.'

Rebus locked eyes with the young man, saw the slightest twitch at a corner of his mouth. Eddie Gentry was not feeling comfortable.

The detective gave a low, drawn-out whistle.

Tou know, don't you?' he asked. Tou've known all along?'

'Known what?'

'Cafferty's got you wired – cameras in the ceiling, in the walls…'

He pointed towards a corner of the room. 'See that hole? Looks like someone's botched a bit of drilling?' Gentry's face gave nothing away. 'There's a lens pointing at us. But you already know that.

For all I know, maybe it's even your job to set the camera rolling.'

Gentry had folded his arms across his chest. 'That session you did at CR Studios – I'm betting it didn't come cheap. Did Cafferty pay for it? Was that part of the deal? Bit of money in your pocket… cheap rent… no overcrowding… and all you had to do was throw a few parties.' Rebus was thinking it through. 'Dope provided by Sol Goodyear – and I'm betting it came cheap, too. Know why?'

'Why?'

'Because Sol works for Cafferty. He's the dealer, you're the pimp…'

'Fuck you.'

'Careful, son.' Rebus jabbed his forefinger towards the young man. 'Have you heard what happened to Cafferty?'

'I heard.'

'Maybe someone didn't like what he'd been doing. Remember that party with Gill Morgan?'

'What about it?'

'That the only footage of her you got?'

'I've no idea.' Rebus looked disbelieving. 'I never watched any of it.'

'Just handed it over, eh?'

'No harm done, was there?'

'I don't think you're qualified to judge that, Eddie. Does Nancy know?'

Gentry shook his head.

'Just you, eh? Did he tell you he was doing the selfsame thing in some of his other flats?'

“You mentioned Big Brother earlier – what's the difference?'

Rebus was standing close to the young man when he answered.

'Difference is, they know they're being watched. I can't really decide who's the sleazier, you or Cafferty. He was watching complete strangers, but you, Eddie, were filming your mates.'