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'Chief executive of First Alba

'A useful sort to know, I'm guessing.'

'He rescued my mother from alcoholism,' Morgan stated, eyes boring into Rebus's. 'And he loves both of us very much.'

'Nice for you, but it doesn't help the poor sod who ended up dead on King's Stables Road. Your friend Nancy found the body, then lied to us about where she'd been heading home from. She gave your name, Gill, and your address. Meaning she must think you're one hell of a friend, the kind who'd go to jail on her behalf rather than tell the truth…'

He didn't realise his voice had risen, but when he stopped, there was a moment's reverberation from the walls.

“You think your stepdad would want you doing that, Gill?' he went on, voice softening again. 'You think your poor mum would want that?'

Gill Morgan had bowed her head and seemed to be analysing the backs of her hands. 'No,' she said quietly.

'No,' Rebus agreed. 'Now tell me, if I were to ask you right now where Nancy lives, could you give me an answer?'

A single tear dropped into the young woman's lap. She squeezed her eyes with thumb and forefinger, then blinked any further tears back. 'Somewhere off the Cowgate.'

'Doesn't sound to me,' Rebus said, 'as if you really know her all that well. So if the two of you aren't what you might call bosom buddies, why are you covering for her?'

Morgan said something he didn't catch. He asked her to repeat it. She glared at him, and this time the words were unmistakable.

'She was buying me drugs.' She let the words sink in. 'Buying us drugs, I should say – some for her, and some for me. Just a bit of pot, nothing to send civilisation crashing to its knees.'

'Is that how you became friends?'

'I dare say it's part of the reason.' But Morgan couldn't really see the point of lying. 'Maybe quite a lot of the reason.'

'The party you met her at, she brought dope with her?'

Tes.'

'Was she sharing or selling?'

We're not talking about some Medellin cartel here, Inspector…'

'Cocaine, too?' Rebus deduced. Morgan realised she'd said too much. 'And you had to protect her because otherwise she was going to – pardon the pun – grass you up?'

'Is that the punchline you were talking about?'

'I didn't think you'd heard that.'

'I heard.'

'So Nancy Sievewright wasn't here that night?'

'She was supposed to turn up at midnight with my share. It a

'Where from?'

'I've been helping out one of my drama teachers. He has a sideline ru

'Ghost tours, you mean?'

'I know they're preposterous, but the tourists like them and it's a bit of a giggle.'

'So you're one of the actors? Jumping out from the shadows and going “Boo!”?'

'I have to play several roles, actually.' She sounded hurt by his glibness. 'And between set-ups, I have to run like blazes to the next location, changing costume as I go.'

Rebus remembered Gary Walsh saying something about the ghost tours. 'Where does it happen?' he asked now.

'St Giles to the Canongate, same route each night.'

'Do you know of any tours that take in King's Stables Road?'

'No.'

Rebus nodded thoughtfully. 'So who exactly do you play?'

She gave a puzzled laugh. 'Why the interest?' 'Indulge me.'

She puckered her lips. 'Well,' she said at last, 'I'm the plague doctor… I have to wear a mask like a hawk's beak – the doctor would fill it with potpourri to ward off the stench from his patients.'

'Nice.'

'And then I'm a ghost… and sometimes even the Mad Monk.'

'Mad Monk? Bit of a challenge for a woman, isn't it?'

'I only have to do a bit of moaning and groaning.'

'Yes, but they can see you're not a bloke.'

'The hood covers most of my face,' she explained, smiling again.

'Hood?' Rebus echoed. 'I wouldn't mind having a look at that.'

'The costumes stay with the company, Inspector. That way, when one actor's off sick, they can use another as cover.'

Rebus nodded as if satisfied by the explanation. 'Tell me,' he asked, 'did Nancy ever come to see you perform?'

'A couple of weeks back.'

'Enjoy herself, did she?'

'Seemed to.' She gave another nervy little laugh. 'Am I walking into some trap here? I can't see what any of this has to do with your case.'

'Probably nothing,' Rebus assured her.

Morgan grew thoughtful. 'You're going to talk to Nancy now, aren't you? She'll know I've told you.'

'Afraid you may be in the market for another supplier, Miss Morgan. Shouldn't worry, though – there are plenty of them about.'

Rebus got to his feet. She followed suit, standing on tiptoe and still below the height of his chin.

'Is there…' She swallowed back the rest of the question but decided she had to know. 'Is there any reason why my mother might get to hear of this?'

'Depends, really,' Rebus said, after a moment's pretend thought.

'We catch the killer… it comes to trial… the time-line is gone through minute by minute. Defence is going to want some doubt in the jury's minds, and that means showing any witnesses to be less than trustworthy. They show Nancy 's original statement to be a pile of dung, and it all starts to smell from then on in…' He gazed down at her. 'That's the worst-case scenario,' he offered. 'Might never happen.'

'Which is another way of saying it might.'

Tou should have told the truth from the start, Gill. Lying is all very well for an actor, but out here in the real world we tend to call it perjury.'

22

'I'm not sure I can take all this in,' Siobhan Clarke admitted. They were gathered in the CID suite. Clarke was pacing up and down in front of the Murder Wall. She passed by photos of Alexander Todorov in life and in death, a photocopied pathology report, names and phone numbers. Rebus was polishing off a ham salad sandwich, washed down with polystyrene tea. Hawes and Tibbet sat at their desks, swaying gently in their chairs, as if in time to a piece of music only they could hear. Todd Goodyear was sipping milk from a half-litre carton.

'Want me to recap for you?' Rebus offered. 'Gill Morgan's stepdad runs First Alba

'We need to bring her in,' Clarke decided. ' Phyl, Col – go fetch.'

They managed a synchronised nod as they rose from their chairs.

'What if she's not there?' Tibbet asked.

'Find her,' Clarke demanded.

'Yes, boss,' he said, sliding his jacket back on. Clarke was glaring at him, but Rebus knew Tibbet hadn't been trying for sarcasm.

He'd called her 'boss' because that was what she was. She seemed to sense this, and glanced towards Rebus. He balled up the wrapper from his sandwich, and missed the waste-bin by about three feet.

'She doesn't seem like a dealer to me,' Clarke said.

'Maybe she's not,' Rebus responded. 'Maybe she's just a friend who likes to share.'

'But if she charges for that share,' Goodyear argued, 'doesn't

that make her a dealer?' He had walked over to the waste-bin and picked up Rebus's wrapper, making sure it found its target. Rebus wondered if the young man was even aware that he'd done it.

'So if she wasn't at Gill Morgan's flat that night, where was she?'

Clarke asked.

While we're adding ingredients to the broth,' Rebus interrupted, 'here's another for you. Barman at the hotel saw Andropov and Cafferty with another man, the night Todorov was murdered. The man in question is a Labour minister called Jim Bakewell.'