Exit Music

'Oh aye?' Rebus seemed more interested in the packet of gum.

'Maybe you should talk to him, DI Rebus,' the man continued, a gleam in his eye as he clocked the effect: an emergency stop on the gum-chewing.

'Who are you?' Rebus asked.

'He'll tell you. I've got to pay for the petrol.' The man moved off.

Rebus stood his ground a moment. The cashier was looking interested.

The man at the Vectra was concentrating on the pump's meter. Rebus decided to go see him.

'You wanted me,' he said.

'Believe me, Rebus, you're the last thing I want.' The man was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin. His hair was brown, eyes somewhere between brown and green and set in the blandest of faces. Always blending in, and instantly forgettable – perfect for surveillance work.

'I'm assuming you're CID,' Rebus went on. 'Don't know you, though, which means you're from out of town.'

The man released his grip on the pump as the meter hit thirty pounds dead. He seemed satisfied with this outcome and replaced the nozzle in its holster. Only then, as he replaced the cap and wiped his hands on his handkerchief, did he deign to focus his attention on the man standing before him.

Tou're Detective Inspector John Rebus,' he stated. 'Based at Gayfield Square police station, B Division, Edinburgh.'

'Let me write this down in case I forget.' Rebus made show of reaching into a pocket for his notebook.

Tou have a problem with authority,' the man went on, 'which is why everyone's so relieved you're about to retire. They've only just stopped short of putting up bunting at Fettes HQ.'

'Seems you know all there is to know about me,' Rebus conceded. 'And so far all I know about you is that you drive the sort of overpowered cock-mobile favoured by a certain type of cop… usually the kind who's happiest investigating other cops.'

“You think we're The Complaints?'

'Maybe not, but you seem to know who they are.'

'I've been on their receiving end a couple of times myself,' the jfman confided. “You're not a proper cop otherwise.'

'Makes me a proper cop, then,' Rebus added.

'I know,' the man said quietly. 'Now get in and let's do some proper talking.'

'My car's…' But as Rebus looked over his shoulder, he saw that the baby-faced giant had somehow squeezed in behind the Saab's steering wheel and was turning the ignition.

'Don't worry,' Rebus's new friend assured him, 'Andy knows a thing or two about cars.' He was getting back into the Vectra's driving seat. Rebus walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. The big man – Andy – had left a dent in the seat. Rebus looked around for clues as to the men's identity.

'I like your thinking,' the driver admitted. 'But when you're undercover, you try not to give the game away.'

'I can't be much good, then, seeing how you had no trouble spotting me.'

'Not much good, no.'

'While your pal Andy couldn't look more like a copper if he had the word tattooed on his forehead.'

'Some people think he looks like a bouncer.'

'Bouncers tend to have that bit more refinement.'

The man had lifted a mobile phone for Rebus to see. 'Want me to relay that to him while he's in charge of your vehicle?'

'Maybe later,' Rebus said. 'So who are you then?'

'We're SCD,' the stranger said. Short for SCDEA, the Scottish Crime and Drugs Enforcement Agency. 'I'm DI Stone.'

'And Andy?'

'DS Prosser.'

'What can I do to help you, DI Stone?'

Tou can start by calling me Calum, and I hope it's all right to call you John?'

'Nice and friendly, eh, Calum?'

'Let's just aim for civil and see how it goes.'

The Saab was already signalling to turn off the main road. They entered the car park of a casino, not far from Ocean Terminal, where the Saab pulled to a stop, Stone drawing up alongside.

'Andy seems to know his way around,' Rebus commented.

'Football routes only. Andy's a Dunfermline fan, comes through here to watch his team play Hibs and Hearts.'

'Not for much longer, the way the Pars are struggling.'

'A sore point.'

'I'll bear that in mind…'

Stone had turned in his seat, the better to meet Rebus face to face. 'I'm being straight with you, because I think any other

approach might see your hackles rise. I hope you'll offer me the same courtesy.' He paused for a moment. 'Why are you so interested in Cafferty and the Russian?'

'A case I'm working.'

'The Todorov killing?'

Rebus nodded. 'Last drink he had before he died happened to be with Cafferty. Andropov was in the bar at the same time.'

'You think the pair of them are in cahoots?'

'I just wasn't sure how.'

'And now…?'

'Andropov's looking to buy a huge swathe of Edinburgh,' Rebus guessed. 'With Cafferty as his middleman.'

'Could be,' Stone conceded. Rebus was looking out of the passenger-side window towards his own car. Prosser seemed to be thumping the dodgy speaker with his foot.

'Not sure Andy shares my taste in music,' Rebus commented.

'Depends on whether you listen to nothing but Strathspey reels…'

'We may have a problem.'

Stone pretended to laugh. 'Bit unusual, isn't it?' he asked. 'A one-man stakeout? Is CID around these parts really that short of bodies?'

'Not everyone wants to work nights.'

'Tell me about it – wife's sometimes so surprised to see me, I keep thinking she must have the milkman hidden in the wardrobe.'

'You don't wear a wedding ring.'

'No, I don't. While you, John, are divorced with a grown-up daughter.'

'Anyone would think it was me you were interested in rather than Andropov.'

'I couldn't care less about Andropov. Authorities in Moscow are a gnat's bollock away from charging him with God-knows-what – fraud and deception and bribery…'

'He seems pretty relaxed about it. Is that because he's thinking of relocating?'

“Wait and see. But for what it's worth, whatever the reason for him being here, it seems legit.'

'Even with Cafferty in tow?'

'Thing about crooks, John, ninety per cent of everything they do is completely kosher.'

Rebus considered for a moment, the word overworld reverberating in his head. 'So if it's not Andropov you're after…'

'We've got your friend Cafferty in our sights, John, and this time he's going down. Reason your name flashed on the radar – all those run-ins down the years. But he's ours, John. Six of us have been slaving over him these past seven months. We've got phone taps and forensic accountants and a lot more besides, and we aim to have him in jail shortly with his ill-got gains reverting to the Exchequer.' Stone looked pleased with himself, but his eyes were cold, bright marbles. 'Only thing that could mess it up is someone blundering in, hellbent on their own half-baked theories and stoked by long-held prejudice.' Stone was shaking his head slowly. 'Can't let that happen, John.'

'Or in other words – butt out.'

'If I told you to do that,' Stone continued quietly, 'I have the suspicion you'd do exactly the opposite, just for the hell of it.' In the Saab, Prosser's head had disappeared from view as he wrestled with the door panel.

'What are you going to charge Cafferty with?'

'Maybe drugs, maybe money-laundering… tax evasion's always a good one. He doesn't think we know about his various offshore accounts…'

'Those forensic accountants you were mentioning?'

'They're so good, they have to stay anonymous – there'd be a price on their heads otherwise.'

'I can imagine.' Rebus was thoughtful for a moment. 'Anything tying Cafferty and Andropov to Alexander Todorov?'

'Only that Andropov knew him in Moscow.'

'Knew Todorov?'

'From years back… same school or college or something.'