Ian Rankin - Exit Music

Clarke nodded slowly, but said nothing.

'Two or three days – see what you can come up with. You've got Hawes and Tibbet – who else are you going to bring aboard?'

'I'll let you know.'

Macrae grew thoughtful again. 'Someone from the Russian embassy spoke to Scotland Yard… and they spoke to our dear Chief Constable.' He sighed. 'If he knew I was letting John Rebus anywhere near this, he'd have kittens.'

'They make nice pets, sir,' Clarke offered, but Macrae just glowered.

'It's why you're in charge, Siobhan, not John. Is that clear?'

“Yes, sir.'

I'm guessing he's skulking nearby, waiting for you to report back to him?'

Tou know him too well, sir.'

Macrae made a little gesture with his hand, telling her she was dismissed. She wandered back through the CID suite and down to the lobby, where she saw a face she recognised. Todd Goodyear had either finished a shift or was working undercover, dressed as he was in black straight-leg denims and a black padded bomber jacket. Clarke made show of trying to place him.

'The Todorov crime scene? PC Goodyear?'

He nodded, and glanced towards the folder she was still carrying.

“You got my notes?'

'As you can see…' She was playing for time, wondering why he was there.

'Were they all right?'

'They were fine.' He looked keen for a bit more than that, but she just repeated the word 'fine', then asked what he was doing.

Waiting for you,' he owned up. 'I'd heard tell you worked late.'

'Actually, I just got here twenty minutes ago.'

He was nodding. 'I was outside in the car.' He glanced over her shoulder. 'DI Rebus isn't with you?'

'Look, Todd, what the hell is it you want?'

Goodyear licked his lips. 'I thought PC Dyson told you – I'm after a stint with CID.'

'Good for you.'

'And I wondered if you maybe needed someone…” He let the sentence drift off.

With Todorov, you mean?'

'It'd be a chance for me to learn. That was my first murder scene… I'd love to know what happens next.'

'What happens next is a lot of slogging, most of it with nothing to show at the end.'

'Sounds great.' He offered her a grin. 'I write a good report, DS Clarke… I don't miss too many tricks. I just feel I could be doing more.'

'Persistent little sod, aren't you?'

'Let me try to convince you over a drink.' 'I'm meeting someone.'

'Tomorrow, then? I could buy you a coffee.'

'Tomorrow's Saturday, and DCI Macrae hasn't put together a budget.'

'Meaning no overtime?' Goodyear nodded his understanding.

Clarke thought for a moment. 'Why me rather than Rebus? He's the ranking officer.'

'Maybe I thought you'd be a better listener.'

'Meaning more gullible?'

'Meaning just what I said.'

Clarke took another moment to make up her mind. 'Actually, it's me in charge of this case, so let's meet for that coffee first thing Monday morning. There's a place on Broughton Street I sometimes use.' She named it, and a time.

'Thanks, DS Clarke,' Goodyear said. Tou won't regret it.' He held out his hand and they shook on it.

Siobhan Clarke was ten minutes early, but Goodyear was already there. He was in his uniform, but with the same bomber jacket as Friday night covering it and zipped to the neck.

'Embarrassed to be seen in it?' Clarke asked.

'Well, you know what it's like…'

She did indeed. Long time since she'd worn a constabulary uniform, but the job was still something you didn't always readily own up to. Parties she'd been to, people always seemed a bit less comfortable once they knew what she did for a living. It was the same on a night out, guys either losing interest or else making too many jokes: going to cuff me to your bedposts? Wait till you see my truncheon.

Don't worry about the neighbours, I'll come quietly, officer…

Goodyear was back on his feet, asking what she'd like. 'They're on the case,' she assured him. Her regular cappuccino was being prepared, so all Goodyear had to do was pay for it and fetch it over.

They were seated on stools at a table by the window. It was a basement, so all they could see was a passing parade of legs at street level. Gusts of rain were blowing in from the North Sea; everyone was hurrying to be somewhere else. Clarke turned down his offer of sugar and told him to relax.

You're not at a job interview,' she said.

'I thought I was,' he replied with a nervy little laugh, showing a line of slightly crooked teeth. His ears stuck out a little bit, too, and his eyelashes were very fair. He was drinking a mug of filter coffee and the crumbs on his plate were evidence of an earlier croissant. 'Good weekend?' he asked.

'Great weekend,' she corrected him. 'Hibs won six-one, and Hearts lost to Rangers.'

'You're a Hibs fan.' He nodded slowly to himself, filing the information away. 'Were you at the game?'

She shook her head. 'It was at Motherwell. I had to content myself with a film.'

'Casino RoyaleT She shook her head. 'The Departed.' They lapsed into silence, until a thought struck Clarke. 'How long were you waiting before I got here?'

'Not too long. Woke up early and thought I might as well…' He took a deep breath. 'To be honest, I wasn't sure I'd find this place, so I left plenty of time. I always err on the side of caution.'

'Duly noted, PC Goodyear. So tell me a bit about yourself.'

'Like what?'

'Anything.'

'Well, I'm guessing you know who my grandad was…' He looked up at her, and she nodded. 'Most people seem to, whether they say as much to my face.'

Tou were young when he died,' Clarke said.

'I was four. But I hadn't seen him for the best part of a year.

Mum and Dad wouldn't take me with them.'

'To the prison, you mean?' It was Goodyear's turn to nod.

'Mum fell apart a bit… She was always highly strung, and her parents thought her a class above my dad. So when his dad ended up in jail, that seemed all the proof they needed. Added to which, my dad always liked drowning his own sorrows.' He offered a rueful smile. 'Maybe some people would be better off never marrying.'

'But then there'd be no Todd Goodyear.'

'God must have had his reasons.'

'Does any of it explain why you joined the police?'

'Maybe – but thanks for not making a straight assumption. So many people have tried spelling it out to me like that. “You're atoning, Todd” or “You're showing not all Goodyears are cut from the same cloth.”'

'Lazy thinking?' Clarke guessed.

'How about you, DS Clarke? What made you become a cop?'

She considered a moment before deciding to tell him the truth. 'I think I was reacting against my parents. They were typical liberal lefties, growing up in the sixties.'

'The only way to rebel was to become the Establishment?'

Goodyear smiled and nodded his understanding.

'Not a bad way of putting it,' Clarke agreed, lifting her cup to her lips. 'What does your brother think of it all?'

Tou know he's been in trouble a few times?'

'I know his name's on our books,' Clarke admitted.

Tou've been checking up on me?' But Clarke wasn't about to answer that. 'I never see him.' Goodyear paused. 'Actually, that's not strictly true – he's been in hospital, and I went to visit him.'

'Nothing serious?'

'He got himself into some stupid argument in a pub. That's just the way Sol is.'

'Is he older than you or younger?'

'Two years older. Not that you'd ever have known it – when we were kids, neighbours used to say how much more mature than him I seemed. They just meant I was better behaved – plus I used to do the shopping and stuff…' He seemed lost in the past for a moment, then shook his head clear. 'DI Rebus,' he said, 'has a bit of history with Big Ger Cafferty, doesn't he?'