Exit Music

20

The headline on page five of the Evening News was DAS KAPITALISTS. The story below it recounted a di

They were seated around a large corner table in a Rose Street pub. The place was about to get noisy: Celtic were readying to kick off against Manchester United in the Champions' League and the big-screen TV was the focus of most drinkers' attentions. Rebus closed the paper and tossed it back towards Goodyear, who was seated across from him. He realised he'd missed the last bit of Phyllida Hawes's story, so got her to repeat Anderson 's words: storing up trouble for later.

'I'll give him “trouble”,' he muttered. 'And he can't say I didn't give him fair warning…'

'So far,' Colin Tibbet said, 'we've only got one sighting of the mystery woman.' Having noticed that Todd Goodyear had taken off his tie, he was now in the process of removing his own.

'Doesn't mean she wasn't there,' Clarke told him. 'Even if she

played no part, she might have seen something. There's a line in one of Todorov's poems about averting your eyes so you'll never have to testify.'

'And what's that supposed to mean?' Rebus asked her.

'She could be lying low for a reason – people don't always want to get involved.'

'Sometimes,' Hawes agreed, 'they have good reason not to get involved.'

'Do we still think Nancy Sievewright's holding something back?'

Clarke asked.

'That friend of hers was definitely spi

'So maybe we need to go over her story again.'

'Anything so far from those tapes?' Hawes was asking. Clarke shook her head and gestured towards Goodyear.

'Just that the deceased liked to listen into people's conversations,'

he obliged, 'even if it meant following them around.'

'Bit of a weirdo, then?'

'One way of looking at it,' Clarke conceded.

'Christ's sake,' Rebus butted in, 'there's a bigger picture you're not looking at – Todorov's last stop before ending up dead… a drink with Big Ger Cafferty, and some of the Russians not ten yards away!' He rubbed a hand across his forehead.

'Can I just ask one thing?'

Rebus stared at Goodyear. 'And what's that, young Todd?'

'Don't take the Lord's name in vain.'

Tou taking the piss?'

But Goodyear was shaking his head. 'I'd look on it as a great favour…'

“Which church do you go to, Todd?' Tibbet asked.

'St Fothad's in Saughtonhall.'

'That where you live?'

'Where I grew up,' Goodyear corrected Tibbet.

'I used to go to the kirk,' Tibbet went on. 'Stopped when I was fourteen. My mum died from cancer, couldn't see the point after that.'

'”God is the place that always heals over,“' Goodyear recited, '”however often we tear it“.' He smiled. 'That's from a poem, though not one of Todorov's. Seems to make sense of it all – to me, at any rate.'

'Hell's teeth,' Rebus said. 'Poems and quotations and the Church of Scotland. I don't come to pubs for a sermon.'

Tou're not alone,' Goodyear told him. 'Plenty of Scots try to hide their cleverness. We don't trust clever people.'

Tibbet was nodding. 'We're supposed to be “all Jock Tamson's bairns” – meaning we're all the same.'

'And not allowed to be different.' Goodyear was nodding back at him.

'See what you're going to miss when you retire?' Clarke said, her eyes on Rebus. 'Intellectual debate.'

'I'm getting out just in time, then.' He started to rise to his feet. 'Now if you eggheads will excuse me, I've got a tutorial with Professor Nicotine…'

Rose Street was busy: a hen-night pub crawl, the women dressed in identical T-shirts marked with the words 'Four Weddings and a Piss-Up'. They blew kisses at Rebus as they passed him, but were then stopped by a crowd of young men heading in the opposite direction. A stag do by the look of it, the groom-to-be spattered with shaving foam, eggs and flour. Office workers eased past, on their way home after a couple of bevvies. There were tourist families, too, not sure what to make of the hens and stags, and men hurrying to catch the match.

The door opened behind Rebus and Todd Goodyear stepped out.

'Wouldn't have taken you for a smoker,' Rebus told him.

'I'm headed home.' Goodyear was shrugging himself back into his suit jacket. 'I left cash on the table for the next round.'

'Prior engagement, is it?'

'Girlfriend.'

'What's her name?'

Goodyear hesitated, but couldn't seem to think of a valid excuse not to tell Rebus. 'Sonia,' he said. 'She's one of the SOCOs.'

'Was she there last Wednesday?'

Goodyear nodded. 'Short blonde hair, mid-twenties…'

'Can't place her,' Rebus admitted. Goodyear looked tempted to take this as an insult, but changed his mind.

Tou used to be a churchgoer, didn't you?' he asked instead.

'Who told you that?'

'Just something I heard.'

'Best not to believe rumours.'

'Even so, I get the feeling I'm right.'

'Maybe you are,' Rebus conceded, blowing smoke into the air.

“Years back, I tried a few different churches. Didn't find any answers.'

Goodyear nodded slowly. 'What Colin said sums up a lot of

people's experience, doesn't it? A loved one dies and we blame God.

Is that what happened with you?'

'Nothing happened with me,' Rebus stated stonily, watching the hen party move off in search of its next watering-hole. The stags were watching, too, one or two debating whether to follow.

'Sorry,' Goodyear was apologising, 'just nosy…'

'Well, don't be.'

'Are you going to miss the job?'

Rebus rolled his eyes. 'Here he goes again,' he complained to the sky above. 'All I want is a peaceful smoke and now it's Question Time.'

Goodyear smiled a further apology. 'I better get going while I still can.'

'Before you do…'

Tes?'

Rebus studied the tip of his cigarette. 'Cafferty in the interview room… was that the first time you'd met him?' Goodyear nodded.

'He knew your brother, and your grandad, too, if it comes to that.'

Rebus looked up and down the street. 'Your grandad's pub was the next block, wasn't it? Forget what it was called…'

'Breezer's.'

Rebus nodded slowly. 'When he went to court, I was the one in the witness box.'

'I didn't know that.'

'Three of us made the bust, but I was the one who gave evidence.'

'Have you ever been in that position with Cafferty?'

'He got put away both times.' Rebus spat on to the pavement.

'Shiv tells me your brother was in a fight. Is he all right?'

'I think so.' Goodyear was looking uncomfortable. 'Look, I'd better get going.'

¦You do that. I'll see you tomorrow.'

'Night, then.'

'Night,' Rebus said, watching him leave. Didn't seem a bad kid.

Decent enough cop. Maybe Shiv could do something with him…

Rebus remembered Harry Goodyear pretty well. Guy's pub had been notorious – speed, coke and a bit of blow, all being shifted from the place, Harry himself a small-timer, in and out of trouble.