Exit Music

“Trade… the commercial climate.' Bakewell shrugged. 'Nothing very riveting.'

'And when Cafferty joined you, he didn't happen to mention Alexander Todorov?'

'Not that I remember.'

'What time did you leave the bar, sir?'

Bakewell puffed out his cheeks with the effort of remembering. 'Quarter past eleven… some time around then.'

'Andropov and Cafferty were still there?'

Yes.'

Clarke paused for a moment's thought. 'How well did Cafferty seem to know Mr Andropov?'

'I couldn't say.'

'But it wasn't the first time they'd met?'

'Mr Cafferty's company is representing Mr Andropov in some development projects.'

'Why did he choose Cafferty?'

Bakewell gave an irritated laugh. 'Go ask him yourself.'

'I'm asking you, sir.'

'I get the feeling you're fishing, Sergeant, and none too subtly at that. As development minister it's my job to discuss future pla

'So you had your advisers with you?' Clarke watched Bakewell try to form an answer. 'If you were there in your official capacity,'

she pressed, 'I'm assuming you'd have a team backing you up…?'

'It was an informal meeting,' the politician snapped.

'Is that a regular occurrence, sir, in your line of work?' Bakewell was about to remonstrate, either that or retreat. He had his hands pressed to his knees, readying to rise to his feet. But there was a woman approaching, and she was already addressing him.

'Jim, where have you been hiding yourself?' Megan Macfarlane turned towards Clarke and her face fell. 'Oh, it's you.'

'I'm being grilled about Alexander Todorov,' Bakewell explained. 'And Sergei Andropov.'

Macfarlane glowered at Clarke and seemed ready to attack, but Clarke didn't give her the chance. 'I'm glad I caught you, Ms Macfarlane,' she said. 'I wanted to ask about Charles Riordan.'

'Who?'

'He was recording your committee for an art installation.'

'Roddy Denholm's project, you mean?' Macfarlane sounded interested.

“What about it?'

'Mr Riordan was friends with Alexander Todorov, and now both men are dead.'

But if Clarke had hoped to divert Macfarlane's attention, she'd failed. The MSP stabbed a finger in Rebus's direction. 'What's he doing skulking there?'

Bakewell turned towards Rebus but had no idea who he was.

'I'm at a loss,' he admitted.

'That's her boss,' Macfarlane explained. 'Looks to me like your private chat wasn't so private, Jim.'

Bakewell stopped looking puzzled and started to look furious instead. 'Is this true?' he asked Clarke. But Macfarlane, clearly enjoying every moment, was speaking again.

'What's more, I hear he's been suspended from duty, pending retirement.'

'And how did you hear that, Ms Macfarlane?' Rebus asked.

'I had a meeting with your Chief Constable yesterday and happened to mention your name.' She made a tutting sound. 'He's not going to be pleased about this, is he?'

'It's an outrage,' Bakewell spluttered, finally rising to his feet.

'I've James Corbyn's number if you need it,' Macfarlane was telling her colleague as she waved her phone at him. Her assistant, Roddy Liddle, had arrived by her side, laden with files and folders.

'An outrage!' Bakewell repeated, causing heads to turn. Two security guards were looking particularly interested.

'Shall we?' Clarke suggested to Rebus. He still had half a shot of espresso left, but thought it only good ma

38

'What now?' Rebus asked as he drove her back towards Gayfield Square.

'Talk to Stahov's driver, I suppose.'

'Think the consulate will let you?'

'Have you got a better idea?'

He shrugged. 'Just that it might be easier to grab him on the street.'

'What if he doesn't speak English?'

'I think he does,' Rebus stated, remembering the cars parked by the canal, Cafferty's bodyguard in conversation with Andropov's driver. 'And if he doesn't, we both know a friendly translator.'

Rebus gestured towards the back seat, where he'd slung the CD.

'And she's about to owe us a favour.'

'So I just grab the driver off the street and interrogate him?' She was staring at Rebus. 'How much more trouble do you want me to be in?'

The Saab crossed at the Regent Road lights and headed into Royal Terrace. 'How much can you take?' he eventually asked.

'Not much more,' she admitted. You think Bakewell will talk to the Chief Constable?'

'He might.'

'Then I'll probably be sharing that suspension with you.'

He glanced at her. 'Won't that be fun?'

'I think you're getting demob-happy, John.'

A patrol car was suddenly behind them, its lights flashing.

'Christ, what now?' Rebus complained to no one in particular. He pulled over just short of the next roundabout and got out.

The patrolman took a bit of time adjusting the cap he'd just fixed to his head. He wasn't anyone Rebus knew.

'DI Rebus?' the officer checked. Rebus nodded his confirmation.

'Got orders to bring you in.'

'Bring me where?'

'West End.'

'Shug Davidson's throwing me a surprise party?'

'I wouldn't know about that.'

Maybe not, but Rebus did: they had something to pin on him, and the bookies were giving a million to one on it being a medal.

Rebus turned towards Clarke. She was out of the car now, resting her hands against its roof. Pedestrians had paused for a moment to watch the drama.

'Take the Saab,' Rebus told her. 'See that Dr Colwell gets the CD.'

'What about the chauffeur?'

'Some things you're going to have to decide for yourself.'

He got into the back of the patrol car. 'Blues and twos, lads,' he said. 'Can't keep Shug Davidson waiting.'

But it wasn't Davidson waiting for him at Torphichen Place, it was DI Calum Stone, seated behind the interview room's only table while DS Prosser stood in the corner, hands in pockets.

'Seems I've got a fan club,' Rebus commented, sitting down opposite Stone.

'Got a bit of news for you,' Stone responded. 'It was Cafferty's blood on that overshoe.'

'DNA usually takes longer than that.'

'All right, then – Cafferty's blood type.'

'I sense a “but”…'

'No usable prints,' Stone admitted.

'Meaning you can't prove it came from the boot of my car?' Rebus clapped his hands together once and began getting to his feet.

Well, nice of you to let me know…'

'Sit down, Rebus.'

Rebus considered for a few seconds, then sat.

'Cafferty's still unconscious,' Stone explained. 'They're not talking coma yet, but I know they're thinking it. Doctor says he could end his days a vegetable.' His eyes narrowed. 'So it looks like we might not get to steal your glory after all.'

You still think I did it?'

'I bloody well know you did.'

'And I told DS Clarke all about it because I needed her to phone

you and get you away from the stakeout?' Rebus watched Stone's slow, sustained nod.

'You used your crime-scene kit so you wouldn't get any blood on you,' Prosser snapped from the corner. 'Shoe blew into the canal and you couldn't risk going in after it…'

'We've been through this!' Rebus spat back.

'No doubt we'll go over it again,' Stone warned. 'Soon as we've completed our inquiries.'

'I can hardly wait.' This time Rebus did rise to his feet. 'That all you wanted me for?'

Stone just nodded again, then waited until Rebus reached the door before firing another question at him. 'Officers who brought you in say there was a woman in the car with you – DS Clarke, I presume?'

'Of course not.'