Exit Music

'No problem remembering names now, eh, Freddie?' Rebus gave a smile. 'But it's Cafferty I'm interested in.'

'I know the gentleman,' the barman eventually conceded.

Rebus's smile widened. 'Maybe it's because he gets called “gentleman”

that he stays here. Wouldn't happen everywhere in the city, believe me.'

'I know he's been in trouble down the years.'

'No secret,' Rebus agreed. 'Maybe he mentioned it himself and told you to get a copy of that book about him, the one that came out last year?'

Freddie couldn't help smiling back. 'Gave me a copy, actually – signed and everything.'

'He's generous that way. Comes in here most days, would you say?'

'He checked in a week ago; due to leave us in a couple of days.'

'Fu

'Does it?' The way Freddie said it, he knew damned well what Rebus was up to.

'Can I remind you,' Rebus said, voice hardening, 'I'm looking into a murder… two murders actually. The night the poet came in here, he'd just had a meal and a drink with a man who's now turned up dead. It's getting serious, Freddie – something you need to bear in mind. You don't want to say anything, fine by me, I'll just arrange to have a patrol car come and pick you up. We'll put you in cuffs and make you comfortable in one of our excellent cells while we get the interrogation room ready…' He paused, letting it sink in. 'I'm trying to be nice here, Freddie, doing my best to be things like “understated” and “people-centred”. That can all change.' He tipped the last of the whisky down his throat.

'Get you another?' the barman asked, his way of saying he was going to cooperate. Rebus shook his head.

'Tell me about Cafferty,' he said instead.

'Comes in most evenings. You're right about the Russians – if it looks like none of them are coming in, he doesn't linger. I know he tries the restaurant, too – has a look around and if they're not there, he won't stay.'

'What about if they are there?'

'Takes a table nearby. Same thing in here. I get the feeling he didn't know them before, but he knows some of them now.'

'So they're all friendly and chatty?'

'Not exactly – they've not got much English. But each of them has a translator – usually some good-looking blonde…'

Rebus thought back to the day he'd seen Andropov outside the hotel and the City Chambers: no glamorous assistant. 'They don't all need a translator,' he said.

Freddie was nodding. 'Mr Andropov speaks English fairly fluently.'

'Which means he probably speaks it better than Cafferty.'

'I do sometimes get that impression. Other thing I felt was that maybe they weren't strangers when they met…'

'What do you mean?'

'First time they ran into one another in here, it was like they didn't need introductions. Mr Andropov, when he shook hands with Mr Cafferty, he sort of gripped his arm at the same time… I du

'How much do you know about Andropov?' Rebus asked. Freddie shrugged again.

'He tips well, never seems to drink very much – usually bottles of water, he insists on Scottish.'

'I meant what do you know of his background?'

'Nothing at all'

The neither,' Rebus admitted. 'So how many times have Cafferty and Andropov met?'

'I've seen them in here a couple of times… the other barman, Jimmy, says he saw them having a chinwag one time, too.'

'What do they talk about?'

'Not a clue.'

Tou better not be holding back on me, Freddie.'

'I'm not.'

Tou said Andropov's English was better than Cafferty's.'

'But not from hearing them in conversation.'

Rebus was gnawing away at his bottom lip. 'So what does Cafferty talk to you about?'

' Edinburgh, mostly – the way it used to be… how things have changed…“

'Sounds riveting. Nothing about the Russians?'

Freddie shook his head. 'Said the best moment of his life was the day he went “legit”.'

'He's about as legit as a twenty-quid Rolex.'

'I've been offered a few of those in my time,' the barman mused.

'Something I noticed about all the Russian gentlemen – nice watches. Tailored suits, too. But their shoes look cheap; I can never understand that. People should take better care of their feet.' He decided Rebus merited an explanation. 'My girlfriend's a chiropodist.'

'The pillow talk must be scintillating,' Rebus muttered, staring at the empty room and imagining it full of Russian tycoons and their translators.

And Big Ger Cafferty.

'Night the poet was in here,' he said, 'he just had the one drink with Cafferty and then left…'

'That's right.'

'But what did Cafferty do?' Rebus was remembering that bar tab: eleven drinks in total.

Freddie thought for a moment. 'I think he stayed for a bit… yes, he was here till I closed up, more or less.'

'More or less?'

'Well, he may have nipped to the toilet. Actually, he went over to Mr Andropov's booth. There was another gentleman there, a politician, I think.'

Tou think?'

'Whenever they come on the telly, I turn the sound down.'

'But you recognised this man?'

'Like I say, I think he's something to do with the Parliament.'

'Which booth was this?' The barman pointed, and Rebus slid from his stool and headed over to it. 'And Andropov was where?'

he called.

'Move in a bit further… yes, there.'

From where Rebus was now sitting, he could only see the nearest end of the bar. The stool he'd just risen from, the one Todorov had taken, was hidden from view. Rebus got to his feet again and walked back to Freddie.

“You sure you've not got cameras in here?'

'We don't need them.'

Rebus thought for a moment. 'Do me a favour, will you?' he said.

'Next time you get a break, find a computer.'

'There's one in the Business Centre.'

'Log on to the Scottish Parliament website. There'll be about a hundred and twenty-nine faces there… see if you can match one of them.'

'My breaks tend to be twenty minutes.'

Rebus ignored this. He gave Freddie his card. 'Call me as soon as you've got a name.' Perfect timing: the door was swinging open, a couple of suits coming in. They looked as though some deal had done them a few favours.

'Bottle of Krug!' one of them barked, ignoring the fact that Freddie was busy with another customer. The barman's eyes met Rebus's and the detective nodded to let him know he could go back to his job.

'Bet they're not even tippers,' Rebus said under his breath.

'Maybe not,' Freddie acknowledged, 'but at least they'll pay for their drinks…'

19

Clarke decided to take the call outside, so Goodyear wouldn't hear her asking Rebus if he was going senile.

'We've already been warned off,' she said into the phone, her voice just above a whisper. 'What grounds have we got for pulling him in?'

'Anyone willing to drink with Cafferty has got to be dodgy,' she heard Rebus explain.

She gave a sigh she hoped he'd hear. 'I don't want you going within a hundred yards of the Russian delegation until we have something a bit more concrete.'

“You always spoil my fun.'

'When you grow up, you'll understand.' She ended the call and went back into the CID suite, where Todd Goodyear had plugged in a tape deck borrowed from one of the interview rooms. Turned out Katie Glass had been toting a couple of evidence sacks' worth of stuff from Riordan's house. Goodyear had carried them up from the boot of her car.

'Drives a Prius,' he'd commented.

When the bags were opened, the smell of burnt plastic filled the room. But some of the tapes were intact, as were a couple of digital recorders. Goodyear had slotted a cassette tape home, and as Clarke walked in through the door he pressed the play button.