Exit Music

'Can I get another?' Sievewright was asking, lifting her empty mug.

'Your turn to pay,' Clarke reminded her.

'I've got no money.'

Clarke sighed and handed her a fiver. 'And get me another cappuccino,'

she said.

29

'He's a hard man to pin down,' Terence Blackman said, fluttering his hands.

Blackman ran a gallery of contemporary art on William Street in the city's west end. The gallery consisted of two rooms with white walls and sanded wooden flooring. Blackman himself was barely five feet tall, ski

'So where is he now?' Rebus asked, stepping around a sculpture which looked like a mass brawl of wire coat hangers.

'Melbourne, I think. Could be Hong Kong.'

'Any of his stuff here today?'

There's actually a waiting list. Half a dozen buyers, money no object.'

'Russians?' Rebus guessed.

Blackman stared at him. 'I'm sorry, Inspector, why was it you wanted to see Roddy?'

'He's been working on a project at the Parliament.'

'An albatross around all our necks,' Blackman sighed.

'Mr Denholm needed bits and pieces of recording done, and the responsible has turned up dead.'

'What?'

TUb name's Charles Riordan.'

'Dead?'

'I'm afraid so. There was a fire…'

Blackman slapped his palms to his cheeks. 'Are the tapes all right?'

Rebus stared at him. 'Nice of you to show concern, sir.'

'Oh, well, yes, of course it's a terrible tragedy for the family and… um…'

'I think the recordings are fine.'

Blackman gave silent thanks and then asked what this had to do with the artist.

'Mr Riordan was murdered, sir. We're wondering if he'd recorded something he shouldn't have.'

'At the Parliament, you mean?'

'Any reason why Mr Denholm chose the Urban Regeneration Committee for his project?'

'I've not the faintest idea.'

'Then you see why I need to talk to him. Maybe you've got a number for his mobile?'

'He doesn't always answer.'

'Nevertheless, a message could be left.'

'I suppose so.' Blackman didn't sound keen.

'So if you could give me the number,' Rebus pressed. The dealer sighed again and gestured for Rebus to follow him, unlocking a door at the back of the room. It was a cramped office, the size of a box room and with unframed canvases and uncanvased frames everywhere.

Blackman's own phone was charging, but he unplugged it and pressed the keys until the artist's number showed on the screen. Rebus punched it into his own phone, while asking how much Denholm's work tended to fetch.

'Depends on size, materials, man-hours…'

'A ballpark figure.'

'Between thirty and fifty…'

'Thousand pounds?' Rebus awaited the dealer's nodded confirmation.

'And how many does he knock out each year?'

Blackman scowled. 'As I told you, there's a waiting list.'

'So which one did Andropov buy?'

'Sergei Andropov has a good eye. I'd happened to acquire an early example of Roddy's work in oils, probably painted the year he left Glasgow School of Art.' Blackman lifted a postcard from the desk.

It was a reproduction of the painting. 'It's called Hopeless.'

To Rebus, it looked as if a child had taken a line for a walk.

Hopeless just about summed it up.

'Fetched a record price for one of Roddy's pre-video works,' the dealer added.

'And how much did you pocket, Mr Blackman?'

'A percentage, Inspector. Now if you'll excuse me…'

But Rebus wasn't about to let go. 'Nice to see my taxes going into your pocket.'

'If you mean the Parliament commission, you've no need to worry -First Alba

'As in paying for it?'

Blackman nodded abruptly. 'Now you really must excuse me…'

'Generous of them,' Rebus commented.

'FAB is a tremendous patron of the arts.'

It was Rebus's turn to nod. 'Just a couple more questions, sir -any idea why Andropov is moving into Scottish art?'

'Because he likes it.'

'Is the same true of all these other Russian millionaires and billionaires?'

'I've no doubt some are buying for investment, others for pleasure.'

'And some as a way of letting everyone else know how rich they are?'

Blackman offered the thi

'Same as with their Caribbean yachts – mine's bigger than yours.

And the mansions in London, the jewellery for the trophy wife…'

'I'm sure you're right.'

'Still doesn't explain the interest in Scotland.' They'd moved back out of the office into the gallery space.

'There are old ties, Inspector. Russians revere Robert Burns, for example, perhaps seeing him as an ideal of Communism. I forget which leader it was – Lenin, maybe – who said that if there was to be a revolt in Europe, it would most likely start in Scotland.'

'But that's all changed, hasn't it? We're talking capitalists, not Communists.'

'Old ties,' Blackman repeated. 'Maybe they still think there's a revolution on the cards.' And he smiled wistfully, making Rebus think the man had at one time been a card-carrier. Hell, why -not? Rebus had grown up in Fife, solidly working class and full coal mines. Fife had elected Britain's first – maybe even the 9nly – Communist MP. In the 1950s and 60s there'd been plenty of smmunist councillors. Rebus wasn't old enough for the General pStrike, but he remembered an aunt telling him about it – barricades

erected, towns and villages cut off – UDI, basically. The People's Kingdom of Fife. He had a little smile to himself, nodding at Terence Blackman.

'By revolution you mean independence?'

'Could hardly make a worse fist of it than the current lot…'

Blackman's mobile was ringing, and he pulled it from his pocket, walking away from Rebus and giving a little flick of the hand, hinting at dismissal.

'Thanks for your time,' Rebus muttered, heading for the door.

On the pavement outside he tried the artist's number. It rang and rang until an automated voice told him to leave a message. He did so, then tried another number. Siobhan Clarke picked up.

'Enjoying your leisure time?' she asked.

Tou're one to talk – is that an espresso machine I hear?'

'Had to get out of the station. Corbyn's brought Derek Starr back.'

'We knew it would happen.'

'We did,' she conceded. 'So I'm having a bit of a blether with Nancy Sievewright. She tells me that the night of the Todorov killing, she was at Sol's house trying to get some stuff. Only Sol was otherwise occupied, as we now know. But Nancy heard a car draw up and someone jump out and whack our poet across the back of the head.'

'So he was attacked twice?'

'It would seem so.'

'Same person each time?'

'Don't know. I was begi

'It's a possibility.'

Tou sound sceptical.'

'Is Nancy in earshot?'

'Popped to the loo.'

'Well, for what it's worth, how about this: Todorov's jumped in the car park, that much we know. He staggers into the night, but the attacker calmly gets into his or her car and follows, decides to finish the job.'

'Meaning the car was in the multistorey?'

'Not necessarily… could've been parked on the street. Is it worth another trip to the City Chambers? Go back through the video. Up till now, we were looking at pedestrians…'