Exit Music

Time was, the city had boasted thirty or forty breweries. Now, Rebus seemed to think there was just the one, not too far away on Slateford Road.

When the other man half turned to concentrate on what Cafferty was saying, Rebus recognised the silhouette of Sergei Andropov's distinctive face. The door to Cafferty's car opened, but only so his driver could get out to light a cigarette. Rebus heard another door, almost like an echo of the first. He decided to pretend he was on his way home, tucked his hands into his jacket, hunched his shoulders and started walking. Risking just the one glance back over his shoulder, he saw that there was another car parked alongside Cafferty's. Andropov's driver had decided on a cigarette break, too.

Cafferty and the Russian, meantime, had crossed the bridge and were still deep in conversation. Rebus wished he'd thought to bring a microphone of some kind – the engineer at Riordan's studio would have obliged. As it was, he couldn't make out anything. What was more, he was headed away from the scene, and it would raise suspicions were he suddenly to turn and retrace his steps. He passed a car workshop, locked up tight for the night. Past it were some tenement flats. He thought about going inside, climbing a flight and peering from the stairwell window. Instead, he stopped and lit a cigarette, then pretended to take a phone call, holding the mobile close to his face. He started walking again, but slowly, aware of the two men on the opposite bank. Andropov gave a whistle, and gestured to the drivers to stay put. Rebus saw that the canal was coming to an end at a recently completed basin, complete with a couple of more permanent-looking barges, one of which had a For Sale sign taped to its only window. New buildings had been thrown up here, too: office blocks, restaurants, and a bar with plenty of glass frontage and outside tables, which were being used tonight only by hardened smokers. One of the units was still to let, and Rebus couldn't see much action in the restaurants. The bar had a cash machine to one side of it, and he paused to use it, risking another glance towards the approaching figures.

But they weren't there any more.

He looked in through the windows of the bar and saw that they were removing their coats. Even from here, Rebus could hear pounding music. Several TV sets were also on the go, and the clientele was predominantly young and studenty. The only person who paid attention to the new arrivals was their waitress, who bounded over with a smile and took their order. No way Rebus could go in – the place wasn't so busy that he'd be able to hide in

the throng. And even supposing he did go in, he'd never get close enough to hear anything. Cafferty had chosen wisely: not even Riordan would have stood a chance. The two men could have a chat without fear of eavesdroppers. What to do next…? Plenty of dark corners out here, meaning he could bide his time and freeze his backside. Or he could retreat to his car. The two men would have to return to their own cars eventually. With a hundred quid extracted from the machine, Rebus made his choice. He walked back along the other side of the canal, crossed at the Leamington Bridge, and hummed to himself as he passed the piece of wasteground.

Not that the two drivers paid any attention, they were too busy talking to one another. Rebus doubted Cafferty's man spoke any Russian, meaning Andropov's driver must have a decent grasp of English.

Once installed in the Saab, Rebus considered switching the engine on, so he could have some heat. But an idling motor might make the guards curious, so he rubbed his hands together and drew his coat more tightly around him. It was a further twenty minutes before anything happened. He hadn't caught sight of Andropov and Cafferty, but both cars were on the move. He followed them back to Gilmore Place. They signalled to turn right at the Viewforth junction, and then right again at Dundee Street. Two minutes later they were pulling to a halt outside the bar. While one of its sides faced the canal, the other fronted Fountainbridge. Traffic here was busier, with plenty of parked cars. Rebus found a space near the old Co-op Funeral Home. Major works were in progress, and one building had lost everything but its facade, while a new construction rose up to fill the space behind. It was all insurance companies and banks around here, Rebus seemed to think, which made him think also of Sir Michael Addison, Stuart Ja

Except that he wouldn't be here in a couple of years…

'Bingo,' he said to himself as Andropov and Cafferty emerged.

They got into their separate cars and headed off, passing Rebus and making towards Lothian Road. Again, Rebus followed: harder to lose them this time. As they passed the end of King's Stables Road, Rebus felt his stomach tighten at the prospect that they might end up at the car park, but they stayed on the main drag and turned into Princes Street, Charlotte Square and Queen Street.

When passing Young Street, Rebus glanced down it towards the Oxford Bar.

'Not tonight, my love,' he cooed, blowing it a kiss.

At the end of Queen Street, they forked left on to Leith Walk, passing Gayfield Square. Great Junction Street, North Junction Street and they were on the waterfront to the west of Leith itself.

More redevelopment was happening here, blocks of apartments rising from what had been dockland and industrial estates.

'Hardly the tourist trail, Sergei,' Rebus muttered as the cars pulled over again. There was another car already sitting there, hazard lights on. Rebus drove past – no way he could park, the streets were deserted. Instead, he took the first turning he came to, did another of the three-pointers he was becoming so expert in, and crawled back to the junction. He signalled right and passed the three cars. Same deal: Cafferty and Andropov standing on the pavement, Cafferty with his arms stretched wide as if to encompass everything. But this time with two new attendants: Stuart Ja

'Gang's all here,' Rebus commented.

There was a petrol station with its lights still on, so he pulled into the forecourt and dribbled some unleaded into the tank. Bought chewing gum from the cashier when he paid, and stood beside the pump, unwrapping a piece slowly and making as if to check messages on his phone. The cashier kept staring out at him, and he knew this wasn't an act he could keep up for long. He looked back along the street, but couldn't make out much. Cafferty still seemed to be holding the floor. A car had pulled up at the pump behind him. Two men got out. One busied himself with the nozzle while the other gave a few stretches and started walking towards the kiosk, but then seemed to change his mind and headed towards Rebus instead.

'Evening,' he said. He was big, bigger than Rebus. His belt was on its last notch and looked ready to snap. His head was shaved, some grey showing through. Pudgy face like an overfed baby who still objected every time the breast was taken away. Rebus just nodded a reply, flicking the gum wrapper into a bin.

The new arrival was studying Rebus's car. 'Bit of a clunker,' he offered, 'even as Saabs go.'

Rebus looked back at the man's own car. Vauxhall Vectra with a black paint job.

'Least I own mine,' he said.

The man gave a smile and a nod, as if to admit that, yes indeed, his belonged to the company. 'He wants a word,' he said, giving a flick of the head in the Vectra's direction.