Ian Rankin - Exit Music

Clarke asked eventually.

'Can I get a drink or something?'

'We're nearly done.'

Sievewright scowled, like a kid on the verge of a major sulk.

Clarke repeated her question.

'She took me along with her one time,' the teenager admitted.

'How was it?'

Sievewright shrugged. 'Okay, I suppose. Bit boring really.'

Tou weren't scared?' The question received a snorted response.

Clarke closed the file slowly, as if winding up. But she had a few more questions. She waited until Sievewright was readying to get up before asking the first of them. 'Remember the cloak Gill wears?'

'What cloak?'

'When she's being the Mad Monk.'

'What about it?'

'Ever seen it at her flat?'

'No.'

'Has she ever been to your flat?'

'Came to a party once.'

Clarke pretended to spend a few moments considering this. “You know I'm not going to be chasing you for drugs offences, Nancy, but I wouldn't mind knowing your dealer's address.'

'No chance.' The teenager sounded adamant. She was still poised to get up; in her mind, she was already leaving, meaning she'd want to give quick answers to any further questions. Clarke rapped her fingernails against the closed file.

'But you know him pretty well?'

'Says who?'

'I'm guessing you had some dope on you at that first party; explains how you made friends so quickly.'

'So?'

'So you're not going to give me a name?'

'Bloody right I'm not.'

'How did you meet him?'

'Through a friend.'

Tour flatmate? The one with the eyeliner?'

'None of your business.'

'The day I was there, quite an aroma was wafting from the living room…' Sievewright stayed tight-lipped. Tou in touch with your parents, Nancy?'

The question seemed to throw the young woman. 'Dad did a runner when I was ten.'

'And your mum?'

'Lives in Wardieburn.'

Not the city's most salubrious neighbourhood. 'See her much?'

'Is this turning into a social work interview?'

Clarke smiled indulgently. 'Had any more trouble from Mr Anderson?'

'Not yet.'

Tou think he'll be back?'

'He better think twice.'

'Funny thing is, he works for Gill's dad's bank.'

'So what?'

'Gill's never taken you to any of their parties? No possibility Mr Anderson could have met you there?'

'No,' Sievewright stated. Clarke let the silence linger, then leaned back in her chair and placed her palms on the tabletop.

'Again, just to be clear, you're not a prostitute and he's not one of your clients?' Sievewright glared at her, forming some sort of comeback. Clarke didn't give her the chance. 'I think that's us, then,' she said. 'I want to thank you for coming in.'

'Didn't have much choice,' Sievewright complained.

'Interview ends at…' Clarke checked the time, announced it for the benefit of the recorder, then switched the machine off and ejected both tapes, sealing them in separate polythene bags. She handed one to Sievewright. 'Thanks again.' The young woman snatched the bag. 'PC Goodyear will see you out.'

'Do I get a lift home?'

'What are we, a taxi service?'

Sievewright gave a curl of the lip, letting Clarke know what she thought of that. Goodyear led her outside, while Clarke gave a twitch of her head to let him know she'd see him upstairs. Once the door was closed, Clarke lifted her phone to her ear.

Tou caught all of that?'

'Pretty much,' Rebus's voice said. She could hear him lighting up.

'This is going to cost us both a fortune in phone bills.'

'That depends on where you do the interviews,' he told her.

'Anywhere outside the station, I can sit in. It's only Gayfield itself Corbyn told me to avoid.'

Clarke slipped the cassette tape into the file and tucked it under her arm. 'Do you think I got everything I could out of her?' she asked.

Tou did fine. It was good to leave some of the big questions till the end… had me wondering if you were going to remember to ask them.'

'Did I leave anything out?'

'Not that I can think of.'

She was out in the corridor now, glad to find it about eight degrees cooler.

'One thing, though,' Rebus was adding. 'Why did you ask about her parents?'

'Not sure really. Maybe it's because we see so many like her – single-parent household, mum probably holding down a job, giving the daughter time to be led astray…'

'Are you going to go all liberal on me?'

'Growing up in Wardieburn… and then suddenly you're going to parties in the New Town.'

'And pushing drugs,' Rebus reminded her. Clarke shouldered open the door to the car park. He was there in his Saab, phone to his ear and a cigarette in his other hand. She folded her phone shut as she opened the passenger-side door and slid in, closing it after her. Rebus had put his own phone back in his pocket.

'That everything?' he asked, holding out a hand for the file.

'As much as I could photocopy without the troops suspecting.'

He removed the inch-deep block of unsullied copy paper. “You learned all the right tricks, Kwai Chang Caine.'

'Does that make you Master Po?'

'Didn't think you were old enough for Rung Fu.'

'Old enough for the reruns.' She watched him place the file on the back seat. 'All through the interview, I was praying you wouldn't cough or sneeze.'

'Couldn't risk lighting a ciggie either,' Rebus replied. She stared at him, but he was avoiding eye contact.

'How come,' she asked eventually, 'you couldn't play nice, just this once?'

'People like Corbyn seem to push my buttons,' he explained.

'Making them part of the majority,' she chided him.

'Maybe so,' he admitted. 'Are you going to interview Bakewell at the Parliament?' She nodded slowly. 'Am I invited?'

'Remind me, what does it mean to be “on suspension”?'

'Last time I looked, Shiv, the public were allowed into the Parliament building. Buy the man a coffee, and I could be seated at the next table over.'

'Or you could go home and let me talk to Corbyn, see if I can change his mind.'

'Won't happen,' he stated.

'Which – you going home or him changing his mind?'

'Both.'

'God give me strength,' she sighed.

'Amen to that… and speaking of the Almighty, I didn't hear much from young Todd during the interview.'

'He was there to observe.'

'It's all right, you know… you can admit that you missed me.'

'Weren't you just saying that I covered all the bases?'

She watched Rebus shrug. 'Maybe there were bases she kept hidden from us.'

'You're telling me you'd have teased the dealer's name out of her?'

'Twenty quid says I'll have it by day's end.'

'If Corbyn gets wind that you're still on the case…'

'But I won't be, DS Clarke. I'll be a civilian. Not much he can do about that, is there?'

'John…' she began to caution, but broke off, knowing she'd be wasting her breath. 'Keep me posted,' she muttered at last, opening the car door and easing herself out.

'Notice something?' he asked. She leaned back down into the car.

'What?'

He waved his arm, taking in the car park. 'The smell's gone…

Wonder if that's an omen.' He was smiling as he turned the key in the ignition, leaving Clarke with an unasked question: Good omen or bad?

' Nancy at home?' Rebus asked Sievewright's flatmate when the young man answered the door.

'No.'

No, because she'd been walking up Leith Street when Rebus had passed her in his Saab. Meaning he had maybe a twenty-minute start on her, always supposing she'd head straight for her flat.

'It's Eddie, right?' Rebus said. 'I was here a few days ago.'

'I remember.'

'Didn't catch your surname, though.'

'Gentry.'

'As in Bobbie Gentry.'

'Not many people know her these days.'