Ian Rankin - Exit Music

'So who did he go to the pub with?'

'There were a few local poets in the audience: Ron Butlin, Andrew Greig… I'd guess Abigail Thomas would be there, too, if only to pay for the drinks – Alexander wasn't brilliant with money.'

Rebus and Clarke shared a look: they'd have to talk to the librarian again. Rebus gave a little cough, playing for time before asking his next question. 'Would you be willing to identify the body, Dr Colwell?'

The blood drained from Scarlett Colwell's face.

'You seem to have known him better than most,' Rebus argued, 'unless there's a next of kin we can approach.'

But she had already made up her mind. 'It's all right, I'll do it.'

'We can take you there now,' Clarke told her, 'if that's okay with you.'

Colwell nodded slowly, eyes staring into space. Rebus caught Clarke's attention. 'Get on to the station,' he said, 'see if Hawes and Tibbet can come give this place a look-see – passport, cash card, notebook… If they're not here, someone's either got them or dumped them.'

'Not forgetting his set of keys,' Clarke added.

'Good point.' Rebus's eyes scanned the room again. 'Hard to say if this place has been turned over or not – unless you know better, Dr Colwell?'

Colwell shook her head again, and had to remove a strand of hair from over one eye. 'It was always pretty much like this.'

'So no need for forensics,' Rebus told Clarke. 'Just Hawes and Tibbet.' Clarke was nodding as she reached for her phone. Rebus had missed something Colwell had said.

'I've a tutorial in an hour,' she repeated.

'We'll have you back in plenty of time,' he assured her, not particularly caring one way or the other. He held out a hand towards Clarke. 'Keys.'

'Pardon?'

“You're staying here to let Hawes and Tibbet in. I'll drive Dr Colwell to the mortuary.'

Clarke tried staring him out, but eventually relented.

'Get one of them to bring you to the Cowgate afterwards,' Rebus said, hoping to sugar the pill.

The identification was immediate, even though most of the body was kept in its shroud, concealing the work done by the pathologists.

Colwell laid her forehead against Rebus's shoulder for a moment, and allowed a single tear to escape from either eye. Rebus regretted not having a clean handkerchief on him, but she reached into her shoulder bag for one, dabbing her eyes and then blowing her nose. Professor Gates was in the room with them, dressed in a three-piece suit which had fitted him beautifully four or five years back. He held his hands in front of him, head bowed, respecting the formalities.

'It's Alexander,' Colwell was eventually able to say.

“You're sure of that?' Rebus felt obliged to press.

'Positive.'

'Perhaps,' Gates piped up, raising his head, 'Dr Colwell would like a cup of tea before the paperwork?'

'Just a couple of forms,' Rebus explained quietly. Colwell nodded slowly, and the three of them went to the pathologist's private office. It was a claustrophobic space with no natural light and the smell of damp wafting in from the shower cubicle next door. The day shift was on, and Rebus didn't recognise the man who brought the tea. Gates called him Kevin, told him to close the door again on his way out, then opened the folder on his desk.

'By the way,' he said, 'was Mr Todorov any sort of car enthusiast?'

'I don't think he'd have known the engine from the boot,' Colwell said with a hint of a smile. 'He once got me to change the bulb in his desk lamp.'

Gates smiled back at her, then turned his attention to Rebus.

'Forensics asked if he maybe worked as a mechanic. There was some oil on the hem of the jacket and the trouser knees.'

Rebus thought back to the crime scene. 'Could have been some on the ground,' he admitted.

'King's Stables Road,' the pathologist added. 'A lot of the stables were turned into garages, weren't they?'

Rebus nodded and glanced towards Colwell, gauging her reaction.

'It's all right,' she told him. 'I'm not going to start blubbing again.'

'Who was it spoke to you?' Rebus asked Gates.

'Ray Duff.'

'Ray's no slouch,' Rebus said. In fact, Rebus knew damned well that Ray Duff was the best forensic scientist they had.

'What's the betting he's at the locus right now,' Gates said, 'checking for oil?'

Rebus nodded and lifted the mug of tea to his lips.

'Now that we know the victim really is Alexander,' Colwell said into the silence, 'do I need to keep quiet about it? I mean, is it something you want to keep from the media?'

Gates gave a loud snort. 'Dr Colwell, we wouldn't stand a chance of keeping it from the Fourth Estate. Lothian and Borders Police leaks like the proverbial sieve – as does this very building.' He lifted his head towards the door. 'Isn't that right, Kevin?' he called.

They could hear feet beginning to shuffle back down the corridor.

Gates gave a satisfied smile and picked up his ringing telephone.

Rebus knew it would be Siobhan Clarke, waiting in reception…

After dropping Colwell back at the university, Rebus treated Clarke to lunch. When he'd made the offer, she'd stared at him and asked if anything was wrong. He'd shaken his head and she'd said he must be after a favour then.

fWho knows how often we'll get the chance, once I'm retired,'

he'd explained.

They went to an upstairs bistro on West Nicolson Street, where the dish of the day was venison pie. It came with chips and garden peas, over all of which Rebus dumped quarter of a bottle of HP sauce. He was limiting himself to a half-pint of Deuchar's, and had managed four drags on a cigarette before stepping over the threshold. Between mouthfuls of pie crust, he told her about Ray Duff, and asked if everything was okay at Todorov's flat.

'Reckon young Colin has a thing going for Phyllida?' Clarke mused. Detective Constables Phyllida Hawes and Colin Tibbet shared the CID suite at Gayfield Square with Rebus and Clarke.

Until recently, all four had worked under the baleful gaze of Detective Inspector Derek Starr, but Starr, seeking the further advancement which he saw as his right, was on secondment to police headquarters on Fettes Avenue. The rumour was that once Rebus walked into the sunset, Clarke would take his place, promoted inspector. It was a rumour Clarke herself was trying not to listen to.

'Why do you ask?' Rebus lifted his glass, noting that it was already almost empty.

'They just seem very comfortable with one another.'

Rebus stared at her, trying for a look of pained surprise. 'And we're not?'

'We're fine,' she answered with a smile. 'But I think they've been on a couple of dates – not that they want anyone to know.'

Tou reckon they're snuggling up just now in the dead man's bed?'

Clarke wrinkled her nose at the suggestion. Then, half a minute later: 'I'm just wondering how to handle it.'

'You mean once I'm out of the way and you're in charge?' Rebus put down his fork and gave her a glare.

'You're the one who wants all the loose ends tied up,' she complained.

'Maybe so, but I've never thought of myself as an agony aunt.' He lifted his glass again, only to find that he'd finished it.

'Do you want coffee?' she asked, making it sound like a peace offering. He shook his head and started patting his pockets.

'What I need is a proper smoke.' He found the packet and rose to his feet. Tfou get yourself a coffee while I'm outside.'

'What about this afternoon?'

He thought for a moment. 'We'll get more done if we diwy it up – you go see the librarian again, I'll hit King's Stables Road.'

'Fine,' she said, not bothering to disguise the fact that it wasn't really fine at all. Rebus stood his ground for a moment, as if about to muster some words, then waved the cigarette in her direction and headed for the door.