Ian Rankin - Exit Music

'Did Todorov speak to any of them?'

'How should I know?'

'Because you were with him.'

Cafferty slapped both hands against the greasy tabletop. 'One drink I had with him!'

'So you say.' Got you rattled again, you bastard!

'Meaning you were the last person he spoke with before he died,'

Clarke reinforced.

You're saying I followed him? Put the boot in him? Fine, let's take a look at this CCTV of yours… let's get the barman in here to say how late I stayed at the bar. You've obviously seen my tab – what time was it signed for? I didn't move from that place until gone midnight. Room full of witnesses… signed bar tab… CCTV.'

He held up three fingers triumphantly. There was silence in IR3.

Rebus eased himself from the wall and took the couple of steps which left him standing beside Cafferty's chair.

'Something happened in that bar, didn't it?' he said, his voice not much above a whisper.

'Sometimes I wish I had your fantasy life, Rebus, I really do.'

There was a sudden knock at the door. Clarke released the breath she'd been holding and called out for whoever it was to come in.

Todd Goodyear edged nervously around the door.

'What do you want?' Rebus snapped. Goodyear's eyes were on the gangster, but the message was for Clarke.

'Fire investigator's got some news.'

'Is she here?' Clarke asked.

'In the suite,' he confirmed.

'Fresh blood,' Cafferty drawled, measuring Goodyear from head to toe. 'What's your name, son?'

'PC Goodyear.'

'A police constable out of uniform?' Cafferty smiled. 'CID must be desperate. Is he your replacement, Rebus?'

“Thanks, Goodyear,' was all Rebus said, nodding to let the young man know he was dismissed. Cafferty, however, had other ideas.

'Used to know a heid-the-ba' called Goodyear…'

'Which one?' Todd Goodyear decided to ask. Cafferty's smile turned into a laugh.

'You're right – there was old Harry, used to run a pub on Rose Street. But I was thinking of more recent times.'

'Solomon Goodyear,' Todd stated.

'That's the one.' Cafferty's eyes gleamed. 'Sol, everyone calls him.'

'My brother.'

Cafferty nodded slowly. Rebus was gesturing for Goodyear to hoof it, but Cafferty's stare held the young man captive. 'Now I think of it, Sol did have a brother… never seemed to want to talk about him, though. Does that make you the black sheep, PC Goodyear?' He was laughing again.

'Tell the FI we'll be there in a minute,' Clarke interrupted, but still Goodyear didn't move.

Todd?' Rebus's use of his first name seemed to break the spell.

Goodyear nodded and disappeared around the door again.

'Nice kid,' Cafferty mused. 'He'll be your pet project then, DS Clarke, for when Rebus slopes off into the sunset, just like you used to be Rebus's.' When neither detective spoke, Cafferty decided to quit while he was ahead. He stretched his spine, arms extended to either side, and started getting to his feet. 'We done here?'

'For the moment,' Clarke conceded.

Tou don't want me to make a statement or anything?'

'Wouldn't be worth the paper it was written on,' Rebus growled.

'Get all the digs in while you can,' Cafferty advised. He was at eye level with his old adversary. 'See you tonight maybe – same time, same place. I'll be thinking of you, freezing in your car. Speaking of which, it was a nice touch turning off the heating in here – it'll make my room at the hotel feel all the cosier.'

'Speaking of the Caledonian,' Clarke decided to add, 'you bought a lot of drinks that night – eleven, according to your tab.'

'Maybe I was thirsty – or just generous.' His gaze settled on her.

'I can be the generous sort, Siobhan, when the circumstances are right. But then you know that already, don't you?'

'I know a lot of things, Cafferty.'

'Oh, I'm sure of that. Maybe we can talk about them while you give me a lift back into town.'

'Bus stop's across the road,' Rebus said.

'Something happened in that bar,' Rebus repeated as he walked with Clarke back to the CID suite.

'So you said.'

'Cafferty was there for a reason. He's never squandered so much as a quid in his life, so what's he doing booked into one of the dearest hotels in town?'

'I doubt he'll tell us.'

'But his stay happens to coincide with the oligarchs.' She looked at him and he gave a shrug. 'Looked it up in the dictionary. Thought maybe it had to do with oil.'

'It means a small group of powerful people, right?' Clarke checked.

'Right,' Rebus confirmed.

'Thing is, John, we've also got this woman at the car park…'

'Cafferty could have put her there. He's owned a fair few brothels in his time.'

'Or she could be nothing to do with it. I'm going to have Hawes and Tibbet talk to the witnesses, see if the e-fit jogs any memories.

But meantime, there's a more pressing question – namely, what the hell are you doing running a one-man stakeout on Big Ger Cafferty?'

'I prefer “vendetta” to “stakeout”.' She seemed ready to say something but he held up his hand. 'I was outside his place last night, as it happens, and he was at home.'

'So?'

'So he's keeping a room at the Caledonian, but not spending much time there.' They had arrived at the door to CID. 'And that means he's up to something.' Rebus opened the door and went in.

Katie Glass had been given a mug of strong-looking tea and was studying it warily.

'DC Tibbet always does that,' Rebus warned her. 'If you want tannin poisoning, feel free to drink up.'

'I might pass,' she said, placing the mug on the corner of a desk.

Rebus introduced himself and shook her hand. Clarke thanked her for coming in and asked if she'd found something.

'Early days,' Glass hedged.

'But…?' Rebus nudged, knowing there was more.

'We may have a source for the fire: small glass bottles filled with a chemical of some kind.'

'What kind of chemical?' Clarke asked, folding her arms. All three were standing, while Hawes and Tibbet listened in from behind their desks. Todd Goodyear was standing by one of the windows, staring out. Rebus wondered if he'd been tracking Cafferty's departure.

'Gone for analysis,' the fire inspector was saying. 'If I had to guess, I'd say maybe it was cleaning fluid of some kind.'

'Household cleaner?'

Glass shook her head. 'Bottles were too small. But this was a man who had a lot of tapes in his house…'

'Cassette cleaner,' Rebus stated. 'For wiping oxidation off the heads of the cassette decks.'

'Impressive,' Glass said.

'I used to have a thing about hi-fi.'

'Well, at least one of the bottles looks like someone had wadded some tissue into its neck. It was sitting in the midst of a pile of melted tape casings.'

'In the living room?'

Glass nodded.

'So you think it was deliberate?'

Now she shrugged. 'Thing is, if you wanted to kill someone in a fire, usually you'd go to town – slosh petrol around the place, that sort of thing. This was a couple of sheets of loo roll and a small bottle of something flammable.'

'I think I see what you're getting at,' Rebus told her. 'Maybe Riordan wasn't the target.' He paused to see if anyone would beat him to it. 'The tapes were,' he eventually explained.

The tapes?' Hawes asked, forehead creasing.

'Piled around the little home-made pyre.'

'Meaning what exactly?'

That Riordan had something somebody wanted.'

'Or something they didn't want anyone else to have,' Clarke added, running a finger beneath her chin. 'Is there anything at all left of those tapes, Katie?'

Glass gave another shrug. 'Most of the tape itself is done to a crisp. Some of the casings fared a little better.'

'So there could still be writing on them?'