Ian Rankin - Exit Music

teenager seemed to be having trouble remembering. ' Great Stuart Street,' Clarke reminded her. Nancy nodded in agreement. 'What's your friend's name, Nancy?'

'What do you need that for?'

'It's just the way we are, we like as much detail as we can get.'

'Her name's Gill.'

Clarke wrote the name down. 'Surname?' she asked.

'Morgan.'

'And what number does she live at?'

'Sixteen.'

'Great.' Clarke wrote this down, too. 'Thanks for that.'

The living-room door opened and a female face peered out, disappearing again after meeting Rebus's glare.

'Who's your landlord?' Rebus decided to ask Nancy. She gave a shrug.

'I give the rent to Eddie.'

'Is Eddie the one who answered the door?'

She nodded, and Rebus took a couple of steps back into the hall.

On top of one of the cardboard boxes sat a pile of mail. As Clarke asked another question, he sifted through it, stopping at one envelope in particular. In place of a stamp, there was a business frank, and alongside it the name of the company: MGC Lettings. Rebus dropped the letter and listened to Nancy 's answer.

'I don't know if the car park was locked up – what difference does it make?'

'Not much,' Clarke seemed to concede.

'We think the victim was attacked there,' Rebus added. 'He either staggered along to the lane where you found him, or else he was carried there.'

'I didn't see anything!' the teenager wailed. Tears were welling in her eyes, and she had wrapped her arms more tightly around her. The living-room door opened again and Eddie emerged into the hall.

'Stop hassling her,' he said.

'We're not hassling her, Eddie,' Rebus told him. The young man blanched when he realised Rebus now had his name. He held his ground a further moment or two for pride's sake, then retreated.

Why didn't you tell him what had happened?' Rebus asked Nancy.

She was shaking her head slowly, having blinked back the tears.

'Just want to forget all about it.'

'Can't blame you for that,' Clarke sympathised. 'But if you do

remember anything…' She was pointing towards the business card.

'I'll call you,' Nancy agreed.

'And you'll come to the station, too,' Clarke reminded her, 'any time Monday.' Nancy Sievewright nodded, looking utterly dejected.

Clarke threw a glance towards Rebus, wondering if he had any other questions. He decided to oblige.

' Nancy,' he asked quietly, 'have you ever been to the Caledonian Hotel?'

The teenager gave a snort. 'Oh yeah, I'm in there all the time.'

'Seriously, though.'

'What do you think?'

'I'll take that as a no.' Rebus gave a little jerk of his head, signalling to Clarke that it was time to go. But before they did, he shoved open the living-room door. The place was a haze of smoke.

There was no ceiling light, just a couple of lamps fitted with purple bulbs and a row of thick white candles on the mantelpiece. The coffee table was covered with cigarette papers, torn bits of card, and shreds of tobacco. Apart from Eddie, there were three figures sprawled on the sofas and the floor. Rebus just nodded at them, then retreated. 'Do you do anything yourself?' he asked Nancy. 'A bit of blaw maybe?' She was opening the front door.

'Sometimes,' she admitted.

'Thanks for not lying,' Rebus said. There was a girl on the doorstep: Kelly, presumably. She was probably the same age as Nancy, but the make-up would get her into most over-21s nightspots.

'Bye then,' Nancy told the two detectives. As the door closed, they could hear Kelly asking Nancy who they were, along with Nancy 's muffled reply that they worked for the landlord. Rebus gave a snort.

'And guess who that landlord would be?' He watched Clarke give a shrug. 'Morris Gerald Cafferty – as in MGC Lettings.'

'I knew he had a few flats,' Clarke commented.

'Hard to turn a corner in this city and not find Cafferty's pawprints nearby.' Rebus was thoughtful for a moment.

'She was lying,' Clarke stated.

'About the friend she was visiting?' Rebus nodded his agreement.

'Why would she lie?'

'Probably a hundred good reasons.'

'Her stoner buddies, for example.' Clarke was starting back down

the stairs. 'Is it worth trying to talk to someone called Gill Morgan at 16 Great Stuart Street?'

'Up to you,' Rebus said. He was looking over his shoulder towards the door of Nancy Sievewright's flat. 'She's an anomaly, though.'

'How so?'

'Every other bugger in this case seems to use the Caledonian like a home from home.'

Clarke was smiling a little smile as the door opened behind them. It stayed open as Nancy Sievewright padded down the stairs towards them.

'There's something you can do for me,' she said, voice lowered.

'What's that, Nancy?'

'Keep that creep away from me.'

The two detectives shared a look. 'Which creep is that?' Clarke asked.

'The one with the wife, the one who phoned 999…'

'Roger Anderson?' Rebus's eyes had narrowed.

Nancy gave a nervous nod. 'He was round here yesterday. I wasn't in, but he must have waited. He was parked outside when I got back.'

'What did he want?'

'Said he was worried about me, wanted to make sure I was all right.' She was heading back up the steps again. 'I'm done with that.'

'Done with what?' Rebus called, but she didn't answer, just closed the door softly after her.

'Bloody hell,' Clarke whispered. 'What was all that about?'

'Something to ask Mr Anderson. Funny, I was just thinking to myself that Nancy looks a bit like his daughter.'

'How did he get her address?'

Rebus just shrugged. 'It'll keep,' he stated, after a moment's thought. 'I've another little mission for you tonight…'

Another little mission: meaning she was on her own when she met with Macrae in his office. He'd been out to some function or other and was dressed in a dinner jacket and black bowtie. There was a driver waiting outside to take him home. As he sat behind his desk, he removed the tie and undid his top button. He'd fetched himself a glass of water from the cooler and was waiting for Clarke to say something. She cleared her throat, cursing Rebus. His reasoning: Macrae would listen to her. That was the whole of it.

'Well, sir,' she began, 'it's about Alexander Todorov.'

'You've got someone in the frame?' Macrae had brightened, but only until she shook her head.

'It's just that we think there may be more to it than a mugging gone wrong.'

'Oh yes?'

'We've not got much in the way of evidence as yet, but there are a lot of…' A lot of what? She couldn't think of a convincing way of putting it. 'There are a lot of leads we need to follow, and mostly they point away from a random attack.'

Macrae leaned back in his chair. 'This sounds like Rebus,' he stated. 'He's got you in here arguing his corner.'

'Doesn't mean I don't agree with him, sir.'

'Sooner you're free of him the better.' Clarke prickled visibly, and Macrae gave a little wave of apology. 'You know what I mean, Siobhan. How long till he goes? A week… and what happens then?

Will the case be closed by the time he packs his bags?'

'Doubtful,' Clarke conceded.

'Meaning you'II be left with it, Siobhan.'

'I don't mind that, sir.'

Macrae stared at her. 'Reckon it's worth a few more days, this hunch of his?'

'It's more than a hunch,' Clarke stressed. 'Todorov connects to a number of people, and it's a matter of ruling them out rather than ruling anything in.'

'And what if there's less to this than meets the eye? We've been here before with John after all.'

'He's solved a lot of cases in his time,' Clarke stated.

You make a good character witness, Siobhan.' Macrae was smiling tiredly. 'I know John outranks you,' he said eventually, 'but I want you in charge of the Todorov murder. Makes things easier, as he himself would admit.'