Ian Rankin - Exit Music

'That's one for our friendly specialist,' he said, moving to the next machine.

'I meant to ask,' Clarke said, 'how you felt meeting Cafferty.'

Goodyear considered his answer. 'Just looking at him,' he said eventually, 'you can see he's full of sin. It's in his eyes, the way he looks at you, the way he carries himself…'

You judge people by the way they look?'

'Not all the time.' He did a bit more button-pushing, earphones still in place, and then held up a finger to let her know he was getting something. After a moment's listening he made eye contact. 'You're not going to believe this.' He unplugged himself and offered her the earphones. Reluctantly, she held them either side of her head, close to her ears but not touching. He'd rewound a little, and now she heard voices. Tinny little voices, but words she recognised:

'After you split up, Mr Todorov headed straight for the bar at the Caledonian. He got talking to someone there…

'That's me,' she said. 'He told us he wasn't recording!'

'He lied. People do sometimes.'

Clarke gave him a scowl and listened to a bit more, then told Goodyear to fast forward. He did, but there was silence.

'Go back again,' she ordered.

What was she hoping for? Riordan's last moments, captured for posterity? His attacker's voice? Riordan gaining some measure of justice from beyond the grave?

Only silence.

'Further back.'

Clarke and Goodyear himself, winding up their questioning of Riordan in his living room.

'We're the last thing on it,' she stated.

'Does that make us suspects?'

'Any more wisecracks, you're back in the woolly suit,' she warned him.

Goodyear looked contrite. 'Woolly suit,' he repeated. 'I've not heard that one before.'

'Picked it up from Rebus,' Clarke admitted.

So many things he'd given her… not all of them useful.

'I don't think he likes me,' Goodyear was telling her.

'He doesn't like anyone.'

'He likes you,' Goodyear argued.

'He tolerates me,' Clarke corrected him. 'Different thing entirely.'

She was staring at the machine. 'I can't believe he recorded us.'

'If you ask me, not being recorded by Mr Riordan would have put us in the minority.'

'True enough.'

Goodyear picked up another of the clear plastic sacks and gave it a shake. 'Plenty more for us to listen to.'

She nodded, then leaned across and patted his shoulder. 'Plenty for you to listen to, Todd,' she corrected him.

'Learning curve?' he guessed.

'Learning curve,' she agreed.

'Want to do something tonight?' Phyllida Hawes asked. She was driving, Colin Tibbet her passenger. It annoyed her that he would sit with one hand gripping the door handle, as if ready to eject should her skills suddenly desert her. Sometimes she would put the wind up him on purpose, accelerating towards the vehicle in front or taking a turn at the last possible and unsignalled second.

Serve him right for doubting her. One time, he'd told her she drove as though they'd just nicked the car from a forecourt.

'Could go for a drink,' he offered.

'Now there's a novelty.'

'Or we could not go for a drink.' He thought for a moment.

'Chinese? Indian?'

'With ideas as radical as these, Col, you should be running a brains trust.'

Tou're in a mood,' he stated.

'Am I?' she replied icily.

'Sorry,' he said.

Another thing that was starting to annoy her: rather than argue his corner, he'd concede on just about any and every point.

Until eight weeks back, Hawes had had a lover – a live-in lover at that. Colin had managed a few single-nighters and one girl who'd actually stuck with him for the best part of a month. Somehow, three weeks ago, they'd fallen into bed together after a night on the piss. Neither had really recovered from it since waking up, faces an inch apart, horror dawning.

It was an accident.

Best put behind us.

And never mentioned.

Forget it ever happened…

But how could they? It had happened, and despite herself she'd quite like for it to happen again. She had transferred her annoyance with herself on to Colin, in the hope he might do something about it, but he was like some sort of sponge, just soaking it all up.

'Wouldn't surprise me,' he said now, 'if Shiv takes us all for a drink tonight. Keep the team together – it's what good managers do.'

'What you mean is, better that than having John Rebus to herself.'

Tou may have a point.'

'On the other hand,' Hawes added, 'could be she'll want young Todd all to herself…'

He turned towards her. Tou don't really think so?'

'Women work in mysterious ways, Colin.'

'So I've noticed. Why do you think she brought him on to the team?'

'Maybe she just fell for his charms.'

'Seriously, though.'

'The DCFs put her in charge. Means she can recruit who she likes, and young Todd wasn't backwards at coming forwards.'

'She was easy to persuade?' Tibbet's forehead was creased in thought.

'Doesn't mean you can persuade her to put your name forward for promotion.'

'That's not what I was thinking,' Tibbet assured her. He looked through the windscreen. 'It's next right, isn't it?'

Hawes refused to signal, and only crossed the traffic when there was a bus bearing down on them.

'I wish you wouldn't do that,' Tibbet said.

'I know,' Phyllida replied with a thin-lipped smile. 'But when you're driving a car you've just nicked from a forecourt…'

They were headed – Shiv's orders – to Nancy Sievewright's flat.

Had to ask her about the woman in the cowl. Very word Shiv had used – 'cowl' – Hawes checking afterwards that she hadn't meant 'hood'.

'Hood or cowl, Phyl, what's the difference exactly?' Shiv having grown prickly these past couple of weeks.

'Just here on the left,' Colin Tibbet was saying. 'There's a space further down.'

'Which I couldn't possibly have spotted without you, DC Tibbet.'

To which he gave no reaction whatsoever.

The door to the communal stairwell had been wedged open, so they decided not to bother with the intercom. Once you crossed the threshold you were in a cold, shadowy place. The white wall-tiles had been damaged and now sported graffiti tags. Voices echoed from somewhere above. A woman, by far the louder of the two. The deeper male bass was softer, entreating.

'Just get the fuck away from me! Why can't you take a telling?'

'I think you know why.'

'I don't fucking well care!'

The couple seemed unaware of the two new arrivals who were climbing towards them.

The man: 'Look, if you'll only talk to me for a moment.'

Interrupted by Colin Tibbet: 'Is there a problem here?' His ID open, letting them know who – and more importantly what – he was.

'Christ, what now?' the man uttered in exasperation.

'Pretty much what I was asking myself thirty seconds ago, sir,'

Hawes told him. 'It's Mr Anderson, isn't it? My partner and I took the statements from you and your wife.'

'Oh, yes.' Anderson had the good grace to look embarrassed.

Hawes saw that one of the doors on the next landing up was wide open. That would be Nancy Sievewright's flat. Hawes met the eyes of the underfed, underdressed girl.

'We interviewed you, too, Nancy,' she said.

Sievewright nodded her agreement. 'Two birds with one stone,'

Colin Tibbet stated.

'I didn't realise,' Hawes said, 'y°u two knew one another.'

'We don'tV Nancy Sievewright exploded. 'He just keeps coming here!'

'Grossly unfair,' Anderson snarled. Hawes shared a look with Tibbet. They knew what they had to do.

'Let's get you inside,' Hawes told Sievewright.

'And if you'll come downstairs with me, sir,' Tibbet said to Anderson. 'There's a question we were hoping to ask you…'