Exit Music

Tou mean Cafferty?' He seemed dismissive of the tactic. 'He'll survive.'

'A cause for celebration, I'm sure.'

'What the hell is she getting at?' Andropov directed the question at Starr, but it was Clarke who answered.

f

'Would you mind taking a listen to this?' On cue, Starr hit the play button. The noise of the Todorov recital's conclusion filled the room. People rising from their seats, commenting on the evening, planning drinks and supper… and then the burst of Russian.

'Recognise it, Mr Andropov?' Clarke asked as Starr paused the recording.

'No.'

'Sure about that? Maybe if DI Starr plays it back…?'

'Look, what are you getting at?'

'We have a forensics facility here in the city, Mr Andropov. They have a pretty good track record when it comes to voice-pattern recognition…'

'What do I care?'

Tou care because that's you on the recording, expressing to Boris Aksanov your desire to see the poet Alexander Todorov dead – the poet who had just humiliated you, the poet who opposed everything you stand for.' She paused again. 'And the very next night, that same man was dead.'

'Meaning I killed him?' Andropov's laughter this time was louder and more sustained. 'And when exactly did I do this? Did I spirit myself away from the hotel bar? Did I hypnotise your development minister so that he would not notice my disappearance?'

'Others could have acted on your behalf,' Starr stated icily.

'Well, that's something you're going to have a great deal of trouble proving, since it happens to be untrue.'

'Why did you go to the recital?' Clarke asked. Andropov stared at her, and decided he had nothing to lose from answering.

'Boris told me he'd been to one a few weeks before. I was intrigued.

I had never seen Alexander read in public'

'Mr Aksanov didn't strike me as a poetry buff.'

Andropov shrugged. 'Maybe the consulate asked him to go.'

'Why would they do that?'

'To ascertain how much of an irritant Alexander intended to be during his stay in the city.' Andropov shifted in his seat. 'Alexander Todorov was a professional dissident – it's how he made his living, picking the pockets of bleeding-heart liberals all over the Western world.'

Clarke waited to see if Andropov had anything more to add. 'And when you heard his latest poem?' she asked into the silence.

The shrug this time was conciliatory. Tou're right, I was angry with him. What do poets give to the world? Do they provide jobs, energy, raw material? No… merely words. And often well

remunerated in the process – certainly lionised above their due.

Alexander Todorov had been suckled by the West precisely because he pandered to its need to see Russia as corrupt and corrosive.'

Andropov had made a fist of his right hand, but then decided against thumping the desk. Instead, he took a deep breath and exhaled noisily through his nostrils. 1 did say that I wished he was dead, but those, too, were merely words.'

'Nevertheless, could Boris Aksanov have acted on them?'

'Have you met Boris? He is no killer; he's a teddy bear.'

'Bears have claws,' Starr felt it necessary to comment. Andropov glowered at him.

'Thank you for that information – being a Russian, of course, I would not have known that.'

Starr had started blushing. To deflect attention from the fact, he hit the play button again and they eavesdropped once more.

Pausing the recording, Starr tapped the machine again. 'I'd say we've got grounds to charge you,' he stated.

'Really? Well, let us see what one of your famed Edinburgh barristers will say about that.'

'We don't have barristers in Scotland,' Starr spat back.

'They're called advocates,' Clarke explained. 'But actually, at this point it's a solicitor you'd want – if we were charging you.' Her words were aimed at Starr, appealing for him not to take it any further – not just yet.

'Well?' Andropov, taking her meaning, was asking the question of Derek Starr. Starr's mouth twitched but he said nothing. 'In other words, I am free to leave?' Andropov had moved his attention to Clarke, but it was Starr who barked out a response.

'Just don't leave the country!'

There was more laughter from the Russian. 'I have no intention of departing your splendid country, Inspector.'

'Nice warm gulag waiting for you back home?' Clarke couldn't help adding.

'That comment cheapens you.' Andropov sounded disappointed in her.

'Going to drop by the hospital sometime?' she added. 'Funny, isn't it, how people around you seem to end up either dead or in a coma?'

Andropov was rising to his feet, lifting his coat from the chair.

Starr and Clarke shared a look, but neither could think of any tactic to delay his departure. Goodyear was just outside the door, ready to show the Russian out.

'We'll talk again,' Starr assured Andropov.

'I look forward to it, Inspector.'

'And we want you to surrender your passport,' was Clarke's final salvo. Andropov gave a little bow of the head and was gone.

Starr, who had risen to his feet, closed the door, walked around the desk and sat down again, facing Clarke. Pretending to check for messages on her phone, she'd just broken the connection to Rebus.

'If it's anyone,' Starr was telling her, 'it's the driver. Even then, a bit of hard evidence might be useful.'

Clarke had placed her notebook and mobile back in her bag.

'Andropov's right about Aksanov – I don't see him as an assassin.'

'Then we need to look at the hotel angle again, see if there's any way Andropov could have followed the poet.'

'Cafferty was there, too, don't forget.'

'One or the other, then.'

'The problem,' she sighed, 'is that we've got a third man – Jim Bakewell's already said the three of them were in that booth till gone eleven… by which time Todorov was dead.'

'So we're back to square one?' Starr didn't bother masking his exasperation.

'We're rattling the cage,' Clarke corrected him. Then, after a moment's thought: 'Thanks for sticking with it, Derek.'

Starr thawed perceptibly. Tou should have come to me sooner, Siobhan. I want a break on this as much as you do.'

'I know. But you're going to split the two investigations, aren't you?'

'DCI Macrae thinks it would help.'

She nodded, as if agreeing with the analysis. 'Do we work tomorrow?'

she asked.

“Weekend overtime has been approved.'

'John Rebus's last day,' she stated quietly.

'Incidentally,' Starr added, ignoring her, 'the officer who showed Andropov out… is he new to the team?'

“West End sent him,' she blithely lied.

Starr was shaking his head. 'CID,' he stated, 'gets younger- looking every year.'

'How did I do?' Clarke asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Three out often.' She stared at him. 'Gee, thanks.' Slammed shut the door. Rebus's

car was parked directly outside the station. He was thrumming his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead.

'I nearly came running in there,' he went on. 'How could you have missed it?'

'Missed what?'

Only now did he deign to turn his head towards her. 'That night in the Poetry Library, Andropov was only a couple of rows from the front. No way he couldn't have seen the mic'

'So?'

'So you were asking the wrong questions. Todorov got him riled, he blurted out that he wanted him dead – no harm done at the time, the only other Russian-speaker was his driver. But then Todorov does end up dead, and suddenly our friend Andropov has a problem…”

'The recording?'

Rebus nodded. 'Because if we ever heard it and got it translated…'

'Hang on a second.' Clarke pinched the skin either side of her nose and screwed shut her eyes. 'Got any aspirin?'

'Glovebox maybe.'

She looked, and found a strip with two tablets left. Rebus handed her a bottle of water, its seal broken. 'If you don't mind a few germs,' he said.