Exit Music

Day Eight. Friday 24 November 2006

35

When Rebus woke up next morning, it was to an insistent buzzing from the entryphone. He rolled over in bed and checked his watch – not yet seven. Still dark outside, and a few more minutes until the timer would kick the central heating into action. The room was cold, the hall floor sucking heat from his feet as he padded down it and picked up the phone next to the door.

'This better be good,' he croaked.

'Depends on your point of view.' Rebus recognised the voice but couldn't place it. 'Come on, John,' the man drawled. 'It's Shug Davidson.'

'Up with the lark, Shug.'

'I've not been to bed yet.'

'Bit early for a social call.'

'Isn't it? Now how about letting me in?'

Rebus's finger hesitated above the entry button. He sensed that if he pressed it, his whole world would start to change – and probably not for the better. Problem was, what was the alternative?

He pressed the button.

DI Shug Davidson was one of the good guys. The force believed that human existence could be divided into two straightforward camps – good guys and bad. Davidson had made few enemies and many friends. He was conscientious and pragmatic, humane and sympathetic. But he had a serious look on his face this morning, only some of which could be attributed to lack of sleep. He also had a uniformed constable with him. Rebus had left the door ajar while he retreated to the bedroom to put some clothes on, yelling that Davidson could make tea if he liked. But Davidson and the uniform seemed content to stand in the hallway, so

that Rebus had to squeeze past them to get to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth with more care than usual, staring at himself in the mirror above the sink. He was still staring at the reflection as he wiped his mouth dry. Back in the hall, he said the word 'shoes' and made for the living room, finding them next to his chair.

'Do I take it,' Rebus asked as he wrestled with the laces, ' West End has need of my finely honed detective skills?'

'Stone's told us all about your rendezvous with Cafferty,'

Davidson stated. 'And Siobhan mentioned the cigarette butt. Not the only thing we found floating in the canal, though…'

'Oh?'

'We found a polythene overshoe, John. Looks like there might be some blood on it.'

'The sort of overshoes the SOCOs wear?'

'The SOCOs wear them, yes, but so do we.'

Rebus nodded slowly. 'I keep some in the boot of the Saab.'

'Mine are in the VWs glovebox.'

'Just the place for them, when you think of it.' Finally, Rebus seemed happy with the knots. He stood up and made eye contact with Davidson. 'Am I a suspect, then, Shug?'

'Bit of questioning should put everyone's minds at rest.'

'Glad to help, DI Davidson.'

There was a bit more work to be done: finding keys and phone, picking out a coat to wear over his suit jacket. But then they were ready. Rebus locked the front door after him and followed Davidson downstairs, the constable bringing up the rear.

'Heard about the poor sod in London?' Davidson asked.

'Litvinenko?'

'Recently deceased. They've ruled out thallium, whatever that is…'

Turned out the two detectives were expected to sit in the back of the Passat while the uniform did the driving. Marchmont to Torphichen Place was a ten-minute ride. Melville Drive was quiet, the morning rush hour not yet begun. There were joggers busy on the Meadows, the car's headlights picking out the reflective strips on their shoes. They waited at the Tollcross junction for the light to change to green, drove round the one-way into Fountainbridge and were soon passing the wine bar at the canal basin. This was where Rebus had waited for Cafferty and Andropov to come out, the night he'd followed them to Granton. Rebus was trying to remember if there was any CCTV on the canal itself. He didn't think so. But

maybe there'd be cameras outside the wine bar. Just because he hadn't noticed any didn't mean they weren't there. Unlikely they'd have spotted him loitering in the vicinity, but you never knew.

The Leamington Lift Bridge wasn't much used at night, but it was used. Drunks congregated with their bottles, youths walked to and fro, looking for action. Might someone have seen something? A figure ru

'I think I'm being fitted up, Shug,' Rebus said as the car took a right at the roundabout, squeezing down the narrow arc of Gardner's Crescent and signalling left at the next lights, into Morrison Street.

They were back into the one-way system and would have to take a couple more rights to bring them to C Division HQ.

'Lot of people,' Davidson said, 'are going to think he deserves a medal – the guy who clobbered Cafferty, I mean.' He paused, fixing Rebus with a look. 'Just for the record, I don't happen to be among them.'

'I didn't do it, Shug.'

'Then you'll be fine, won't you? We're cops, John, we know the i

They were silent after that until the patrol car drew up outside the police station. No media, for which Rebus was thankful, but as they entered the lobby he saw Derek Starr having a whispered confab with Calum Stone.

'Nice day for a lynching,' Rebus told them. Davidson just kept moving, so Rebus followed.

'Reminds me,' Davidson was saying, 'I think the Complaints are after a word, too.'

The Complaints: Internal Affairs… cops who liked nothing more than dustbi

'Seems you were suspended a few days back,' Davidson added, 'but didn't take it to heart.' He'd paused at the door to one of the interview rooms. 'In here, John.' The door opened outwards. Reason for that was, a prisoner couldn't barricade himself in. Usual arrangement of table and chairs, with tape recorders and even a video camera bolted high up on the wall above the door, aimed at the table.

“The accommodation's fine,' Rebus said, 'but does it come with breakfast?'

'I can probably summon a bacon roll.'

'With brown sauce,' Rebus stated.

'Tea or coffee with that?'

'Milky tea, I think, garqon. No sugar.'

'I'll see what I can do.' Davidson closed the door after him, and Rebus sat down at the table, resting his head on his arms. So what if a SOCO had found an overshoe? Could be that one of the SOCOs themselves had left it there. Bloodstains might well turn out to be bits of bark or rust – plenty of both in the canal. Cops and SOCOs used overshoes, but who else? Some hospitals… maybe the mortuary… places that needed to be kept sterile. He thought of the lock on the Saab's boot and how he'd been meaning to get it fixed. It would close eventually, but only with persistence, and even then it would spring open with minimal effort. Cafferty knew Rebus's car. Stone and Prosser knew it, too. Had Andropov's driver clocked it that day outside the City Chambers? No, because they'd been in Siobhan's car, hadn't they? But Rebus had left the Saab kerbside while he'd followed Cafferty and Andropov to the wine bar… an opportunity for either of the bodyguards to swipe anything they liked from the boot. Cafferty himself had said it: Andropov's driver had recognised Rebus… A bloodstained overshoe – what were the chances of finding anything on it leading back to Rebus? He'd no way of knowing.

Tour last days as a cop, John,' he told himself. 'Savour them…'

The door opened and a woman constable appeared with a polystyrene beaker.

'Tea?' he speculated, sniffing the contents.

'If you say so,' she responded, before making a tactical retreat. He took a sip and decided to be satisfied. When the door next opened, it was Shug Davidson, carrying in a third chair.