Exit Music

'Strangest bacon butty I've ever seen,' Rebus told him.

'Rolls are coming.' Davidson placed the chair next to his own, then sat down. He produced two cassette tapes from his pocket, unwrapped them and slotted them into the machine.

'Do I need a lawyer, Shug?'

Tou're the detective, you tell me,' Davidson answered. And then the door opened once more and DI Calum Stone made his entry.

He carried a case file with him, and wore a grim look on his face.

Tou've handed over control?' Rebus guessed, eyes on Davidson.

But it was Stone who replied.

'SCD takes precedence.'

'Feel free to help yourselves to some of my station's case load, too,' Rebus told him. Stone just smirked and opened the file. It

was dog-eared and coffee-stained and bore the hallmarks of having been pored over many times in pursuit of a fresh angle on Cafferty. Fu

'Right then, DI Davidson,' Stone said, adjusting his jacket and shirt cuffs as he made himself comfortable, 'switch that tape machine on and let's get down to business Half an hour later, the rolls arrived. Stone rose to his feet and began pacing, not quite managing to look sanguine that he had not been included in the food order. Rebus's was cold, and the sauce was tomato rather than brown, but he attacked it with exaggerated zeal.

'This is delicious,' he would say one minute, and 'Proper butter, too,' the next. Davidson had offered to split his own helping with Stone, but Stone had waved it aside. 'Another cup of tea's what we need,' Rebus suggested, and Davidson, finding his mouth full of stodgy dough, was forced to agree. So another round of teas arrived and they washed down the last remnants of roll with them, Rebus daintily brushing bits of flour from the corners of his mouth before declaring himself 'ready for round two'.

The machine was switched on again and Rebus went back to defending Siobhan Clarke's role in the previous evening's events.

'She does whatever you tell her,' Stone insisted.

'I'm sure DI Davidson here will vouch that DS Clarke is very much her own woman…' Rebus broke off and watched Davidson nod. 'DI Davidson nods,' he added for the benefit of the tapes. Then he rubbed a finger across the bridge of his nose. 'Look, here's the bottom line – I've not tried to hide anything from you. I admit I saw Cafferty last night. I was there by the canal with him. But I didn't attack him.'

Tou admit you led an SCD surveillance unit away from the scene?'

'Stupid in retrospect,' Rebus agreed.

'But that's all you did?'

'That's all I did.'

Stone looked to Davidson and then back at Rebus. 'In which case, Inspector, you won't mind if we go down to the processing area?'

Rebus stared at Stone. 'Are you charging me?'

'We're asking you to volunteer your fingerprints,' Davidson explained.

'And a DNA swab,' Stone added.

'For purposes of elimination, John.'

'And if I refuse?'

'Why would an i

36

Siobhan Clarke knew damned well she wouldn't find a space in the car park at Gayfield Square – all those new arrivals, driving in from all over the city. Her own flat was only a five-minute walk, her car parked kerbside in a residents' bay. So she walked to work, taking with her a personal CD player. She'd found it under her bed, coated with dust. Replaced the batteries and found that the earphones from her iPod fitted the socket. On her way to work, she picked up coffee from the Broughton Street basement cafe. Seemed like an age since she'd met Todd Goodyear there. Derek Starr still didn't seem to have noticed her new recruit – plenty of bodies in the CID suite, meaning Todd might go undetected a while longer.

When she arrived, there was someone at her desk. She flung her shoulder bag on to the floor next to the chair, hoping it might act as a hint. When it didn't, she flicked the officer's ear. He looked up from the call he was making, and she gestured for him to vamoose.

He didn't seem happy about it, but got up anyway, continuing the conversation as he moved away. Todd Goodyear was standing in front of her with more sheets of transcript from the Urban Regeneration Committee.

'Doesn't seem quite as busy in here,' Clarke commented, noting that Starr was in earnest conversation with Macrae in the DCI's office.

'We've requisitioned two of the interview rooms,' he explained. 'Numbers one and two – three's too cold, apparently.' Then, after a meaningful pause: 'What's this I hear about Cafferty?'

'Did your girlfriend tell you?' Clarke took a sip of cappuccino. Goodyear was nodding.

'She was summoned to the canal,' he confirmed.

'That must have put a damper on your evening.'

'Part and parcel of the job.' He paused. 'She saw you there, too.

How do you want to play it?'

She didn't get his meaning at first, then realised that Todd had been present outside the pub. He, too, knew that Rebus had been on his way to a rendezvous with Cafferty.

'Anyone asks,' she told him, 'you tell them just as much as you know. For what it's worth, DI Rebus has already talked to the inquiry team.'

Goodyear expelled some air. 'Is he a suspect?'

Clarke shook her head. But she knew damned well the possibility was being discussed in Macrae's room. As soon as Goodyear had retreated, she reached into her bag for the CD player and took the disc from the top drawer of her desk. Todorov's recital for the benefit of the Word Power bookshop. She plugged herself in, cranked up the volume and closed her eyes.

A cafe. The espresso machine was hissing somewhere in the distance. Charles Riordan had to be positioned near the front of the audience. She could hear Todorov clearing his throat. One of the booksellers gave the welcome and made some introductory remarks. Clarke knew the cafe. It was near the old Odeon cinema, popular with students. Big comfy sofas and mood music, the sort of place where you felt guilty ordering anything not Fairtrade or organic. Didn't sound like there was amplification for the poet.

Riordan's mic was good, though. When he changed its positioning, she could sense individuals in the audience: a cough here, a sniffle there. Murmurs and whispers. Riordan seemed almost as interested in these as in the main event. Figured: the man did like to eavesdrop.

When the poet started speaking, he covered almost identical ground to his recital at the Poetry Library – made the same ice-breaking jokes, said how welcoming he found Scottish people.

Clarke could imagine his eyes sca

Farewell to all our Scottish fame, Farewell our ancient glory.

Farewell even to the Scottish name,

So famed in martial story.

Now Sark runs over the Solway sands, And Tweed runs to the ocean, To mark where England's province stands Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

There were two further verses, each ending with the same last line. Applause and a couple of whoops when the poet had finished.

Todorov then went back to poems from Astapovo Blues and ended by saying that copies were available for sale at the door. After the ovation had died down, Riordan's mic made another circuit of the room, catching reactions to the recital.

'Going to buy a copy, then?'

'Ten quid's a bit steep… anyway, we've heard most of them now.'