Exit Music (2007) (36 page)

“The amount you’ve put away, for one thing.”

“Six pints, three shorts, and half a bottle of wine.”

“And the man’s still standing.” Stone shook his head in disbelief. “So what brings you here? Bit of unfinished business still niggling you?”

Rebus had started opening his cigarettes, until he remembered where he was. “How do you mean?” he asked.

“Planning to unhook a few of Cafferty’s plugs and tubes?”

“It wasn’t me at the canal.”

“A blood-spattered overshoe says otherwise.”

“Didn’t know inanimate objects could talk.” Rebus was thinking back to his chat with Sonia.

“They’ve got a language all of their own, Rebus,” Stone clarified, “and Forensics to do the translating.”

Yes, Rebus thought, his mind clearing a little, and SOCOs to pick them up in the first place . . . SOCOs like little Sonia. “Can I assume,” he said, “that you’ve been visiting the patient yourself?”

“Trying to change the subject?”

“Just wondering.”

Stone nodded eventually. “The whole surveillance is in cold storage till he wakes up. Means I’m headed back home in the morning. DI Davidson will keep me informed of developments.”

“I wouldn’t try asking him any difficult questions tomorrow,” Rebus gave warning. “He was last seen dancing his way down Young Street.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Stone was rising to his feet. “Now come on, I’ll give you a lift.”

“My flat’s the other end of town,” Rebus stated. “I’ll phone for a taxi.”

“Then I’ll wait with you till it comes.”

“Not that you don’t trust me, DI Stone.”

Stone didn’t bother answering. Rebus had taken a couple of steps towards the ward, but only to peer through one of the porthole-style windows. He couldn’t figure out which bed was Cafferty’s. Some of them had screens around them anyway.

“What if
you’ve
pulled the plug on him?” Rebus asked. “You’ve got yourself the perfect fall guy.”

But Stone shook his head, and, like the nurse before him, gestured towards the security camera. “CCTV would prove you never crossed the threshold. Haven’t you heard that old saying, ‘The camera never lies’?”

“I’ve heard it,” Rebus stated, “but I know better than to believe it.” Having said which, he picked up his bag and preceded Stone back along the corridor towards the exit.

“You’ve known Cafferty a long time,” Stone said.

“Nigh on twenty years.”

“You first gave evidence against him in Glasgow High Court.”

“That’s right. Bloody lawyer got me mixed up with the previous witness, called me Mr. Stroman. After that, Cafferty’s nickname for me was Strawman.”

“Like in
The Wizard of Oz
?”

“Have I managed to tell you something that wasn’t in your files?”

“You have, as a matter of fact.”

“Nice to know I still have the odd trick up my sleeve.”

“I get the feeling you’re not going to let him go.”

“Cafferty?” Rebus watched as Stone nodded.

“Or maybe you’ve readied DS Clarke to enter the fray on your behalf.” Stone waited for a response, but Rebus didn’t seem to have one. “Now you’re leaving the force, you reckon there’s a gap that’ll never be filled?”

“I’m not quite that conceited.”

“Maybe the same’s true of Cafferty—when he pegs it, the vacancy won’t stay open for long. Plenty small-timers out there, young and lean and hungry . . .”

“Not my problem,” Rebus said.

“Then the only thing spoiling your party is Cafferty himself.”

They had reached the main doors of the hospital. Rebus had his phone in his hand, readying to call for a cab.

“You really going to wait with me?” he asked.

“Nothing better to do,” Stone answered. “But that offer of a lift still stands. This time of night, taxis are bound to be thin on the ground.”

It took Rebus half a minute to decide. Having nodded his agreement, he reached into the bag, pulling out the bottle of Speyside . . .

Monday 27 November 2006

EPILOGUE

T
here was a row of taxicabs parked outside Haymarket railway station, but Rebus managed to squeeze his Saab into a space next to them. He sounded the horn and rolled down the window. There were two uniformed officers standing by the station’s exit doors. Monday morning, the day crisp and bright. The constables wore padded black jackets over their stab vests. They paid Rebus no heed whatsoever as he sounded the horn again. But then a parking warden homed in, having noted the double yellow line alongside the Saab. This drew the officers’ attention. One of them said something to his companion and wandered over.

“I’ll deal with this,” he told the warden before crouching down so that his head was level with the window.

“I don’t suppose I can call you DI Rebus anymore?” Todd Goodyear said.

“Not anymore,” Rebus agreed.

“Sonia and me both enjoyed the party, if not the hangovers.”

“Didn’t actually notice you drinking, Todd. I mean, you had a drink in your hand, but it never quite made it as far as your lips.”

“You don’t miss much,” Goodyear conceded with a smile.

“Actually, son, I miss all sorts of things.”

“CID for one?” Goodyear guessed.

“Not quite what I was thinking of.” Rebus peered over Goodyear’s shoulder towards the young man’s colleague. “Any chance I could borrow you for half an hour?”

Goodyear looked puzzled. “What for?”

“Something I want to talk to you about.”

“I’m on duty.”

“I know.” But Rebus didn’t look as if he’d take no for an answer. Goodyear straightened up, went and spoke to the other officer, then returned to the car, removing his cap before climbing into the passenger seat.

“Do
you
miss it?” Rebus asked.

“You mean CID? It was . . . interesting.”

“I enjoyed my little chat with Sonia at the Ox.”

“She’s great.”

“I can see that.” Rebus paused as he maneuvered the car out of its space and into the traffic.

“Where are we headed?”

“Have you heard about Andropov?” Rebus asked, ignoring the question. “He’s being sent home as an ‘undesirable.’ I got that from Siobhan yesterday—she was in work, giving Stuart Janney the chance to confess. The girl never switches off . . . tells me Stahov turns out to be one of the good guys. He’d been keeping a close eye on Andropov, didn’t want him ‘infecting’ Scotland like he’d done Russia. Stahov was liaising with Stone . . .” Rebus paused. “But then you never knew DI Stone, did you?” He watched Goodyear shake his head. “He was the one who was watching Cafferty.”

“Okay.” Goodyear still seemed puzzled.

“Andropov,” Rebus went on, “will face corruption charges in Moscow. He was planning on claiming political asylum, if you can credit that. Using all his useful contacts as referees. Might be true, of course—maybe his life
is
in danger back in Russia.” Rebus sniffed loudly. “Not our problem, though.”

“Where are we headed?” Goodyear asked again. Again, Rebus ignored him.

“Know what I did yesterday, while Siobhan was grafting? Went to Oxgangs and watched them demolish a couple of tower blocks. I could remember making a few arrests there down the years, but not the exact details. Guess that really does mean my time’s past, Todd. There’s a story in the paper this morning that more English voters than Scots think we should go independent.” Rebus turned his head towards his passenger. “Makes you think, eh?”

“Makes me think you’ve yet to sober up from Saturday.”

“Sorry, Todd, I’m rattling on, aren’t I? Been doing a lot of mulling stuff over. Brought me back to a couple of things I should have spotted a lot sooner.”

“What sorts of things?”

“I’m right in thinking you’re a Christian, Todd?”

“You know I am.”

“But then there are different types of Christian . . . and I’d say you tend towards the Old Testament variety—eye for an eye and all that.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“Can’t say I blame you, of course—give me the Old Testament any time . . . good and evil, clear as day and night.”

“I think you should drop me back at Haymarket.”

But Rebus had no intention of doing that. “Saturday morning,” he said, “in the corridor outside the interview rooms—do you remember? You were back in uniform and ready to say your good-byes.”

“I remember.”

“You told me I needed to get the Saab’s boot fixed.” Rebus looked at his passenger. “Haven’t got round to it yet, by the way.”

“Despite having time on your hands.”

Rebus started to laugh, but then ceased abruptly. “Thing I was wondering is . . . how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“About that dodgy boot of mine—I’ve asked Siobhan and she doesn’t recall saying anything to you about it. And I’m pretty sure it never cropped up when you and me had our various chats.”

“That night at the Todorov murder scene,” Goodyear explained.

Rebus nodded slowly. “The very conclusion I came to. You were already there at Raeburn Wynd when Shiv and me arrived. Meant you saw us getting the crime kit out of the car, saw me failing to shut the boot properly.”

“So what?”

“Well, that’s what I’m not sure of. But here’s what I
am
sure of. Your granddad was put away with my help, and when he died it pulled your family apart. That sort of thing leaves a pain that can last for years, Todd. Your brother, Sol, went off the rails with the help of Big Ger Cafferty. You knew the rumors about me and Cafferty . . . Siobhan confirms that you were asking her about us. She feels bad about that actually . . .”

“Why?”

“She thinks maybe it was all because she told you I hated Cafferty’s guts. To your way of thinking, that put me in the frame as Cafferty’s assailant.” He paused. “Oh, and she also feels a bit guilty for bringing you into the team in the first place—feels she was suckered into it—because you managed to hide your ulterior motive.”

“Where are we going?” Goodyear had a hand on his radio. It was attached to his shoulder by a clip and kept crackling with static noise.

“See, I’ve talked it through with her,” Rebus was saying. “She says it makes sense.”

“What does?”

“That night of the party, I got talking to Sonia . . .”

“So you’ve said.”

“The night Cafferty was attacked, you said you were heading off to meet her.” Rebus paused again. “She didn’t seem to remember that. Besides which, she said it was
your
idea to look beneath the footbridge.”

“What?”

“She found that overshoe because you told her where to look for it.”

“Now hang on . . .”

“But here’s the thing: you weren’t even there at the scene, Todd. Way I see it, she maybe called to say she was headed to a job at the canal. That’s when you told her to check the bridge—you knew there was a bridge and you knew what she’d find underneath it.”

“Stop the car.”

“Going to report me for abduction, Todd?” Rebus gave another cold smile. “DI John Rebus and Big Ger Cafferty—your family’s biggest enemies, as far as you were concerned . . . and suddenly you saw a way to get revenge on one of them while implicating the other. You reckoned there was a chance my prints would be on the overshoe. Could have taken it from the boot any time you liked. There were three of us outside the Ox that night, Todd—you, me, and Siobhan. We all knew where I was headed . . . no one else did. You hoofed it after me, waited till Cafferty was alone, and crept up behind him. Siobhan tells me you were shocked to learn there’d been a surveillance on Cafferty. If I hadn’t tricked Stone away from the scene, he’d have had you bang to rights.”

“Rubbish,” Todd Goodyear spat.

“Doesn’t really matter one way or the other, since I can’t prove a single bloody word.” He turned towards the young man again. “Congratulations—you’re getting away with it, Todd. Must mean the Big Man’s looking out for you.”

“I look out for myself, Rebus—me and my family both.” The tone of voice had changed, hardening along with the look in Goodyear’s eyes. “I’d been thinking about Cafferty for a long time. Then, when Sol got stabbed, it really started to rankle—thinking of how different things could’ve been for my folks. I knew you were close to Cafferty, so I had to get close to
you
.” He was staring at the road ahead. “Then you told me you’d been the one in the witness box, the one who’d worked so hard to put my granddad away, and suddenly it all seemed to connect. I could take out you and Cafferty both.”

“Like I say, an eye for an eye.” Traffic ahead was thickening. Rebus eased his foot off the accelerator. “So you must be feeling pretty good now—cleansed, vindicated, avenged, all that sort of stuff . . .”

“ ‘I am pure from my sin.’ ”

“Another of your Bible quotes?” Rebus nodded to himself slowly. “That’s all well and good, but it’s not enough to save you—not by a long chalk.”

“Red light,” Goodyear stated. Meaning that they had to stop at the junction ahead. With the car stationary, Goodyear pushed open his door.

“I was planning on visiting Cafferty,” Rebus told him. “Thought maybe you’d want to see him again. Doctors say he’s improving.”

Goodyear was out of the car, but when Rebus yelled his name, he leaned down into it again.

“When Cafferty comes round,” Rebus told him, “the first face he’s going to see is mine . . . and guess what I’ll be telling him? Better watch your back, Goodyear—and your front, if it comes to that. Cafferty may be a lot of things, but he’s not the sort of coward who’ll whack you from behind.”

Goodyear slammed the door shut just as the lights turned green. Rebus pushed his foot down on the accelerator, watching in his rearview as Goodyear fixed his cap back on to his head. He was staring at the car as the distance between them grew. Rebus exhaled noisily and wound the window down a little. He’d got the garage to connect his new iPod to the stereo. He pressed Play and turned up the volume.

Rory Gallagher: “Sinner Boy,” all the way to Cafferty’s hospital bed.

Siobhan Clarke was waiting for him there. “Did you talk to him?” she asked. He nodded, eyes on Cafferty’s seemingly lifeless form, the regular bleeping and blinking from the machines providing slivers of reassurance. The gangster had been moved from intensive care, but bringing all the peripheral equipment with him.

“I hear your team drew,” Rebus commented to Clarke.

“Two up till the seventieth sodding minute . . . not that I was taking much of it in.”

“Well, you were a bit busy with Stuart Janney—no confession yet?”

“It’ll come.” She paused. “How about Goodyear? Is he going to own up?”

“Todd knows better than that.”

“I still can’t believe I —”

“Hell with it, Shiv, how were you supposed to know?” Rebus seated himself on the chair next to hers. “If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine.”

She stared at him. “Want any more weight on those shoulders?”

“I’m serious—things went wrong for Todd and his family from the minute the granddad was sent down, and I helped that happen.”

“That doesn’t —” But she broke off as he turned towards her.

“They found class A in that pub, Shiv, but Todd’s granddad wasn’t shifting anything half that serious.”

“What are you saying?”

Rebus gazed at the wall opposite. “Back then, Cafferty had cops on his payroll, guys in CID who’d plant whatever he told them to.”

“You . . . ?”

Rebus shook his head. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, though.”

“But you knew it had happened?”

He nodded slowly. “And did nothing about it—that’s the way things were back then. Cafferty would’ve been dealing and not liking it that he was being undercut in Harry Goodyear’s pub.” He puffed out his cheeks and let the air burst from them before continuing. “Awhile back, you asked me about my first day in CID. I lied and said I couldn’t remember. What really happened was I walked out of police college and into the station canteen—and the first thing I was told was: forget everything you’ve just had drilled into you. ‘This is where the game begins, son, and there’s only two teams—us and them.’” He risked another glance towards her. “You covered for mates who’d had too many whiskies with lunch . . . or gone a bit too far on an arrest . . . prisoners falling downstairs or stumbling into walls . . . you covered for
every
body on your team. I stood in that witness box knowing damned well I was covering for a colleague who’d set the old guy up.”

She was still staring at him. “So why tell me? What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“You’ll think of something.”

“That’s so bloody typical of you, John! It’s ancient history, but you couldn’t just keep it to yourself—you had to dump it on me.”

“Hoping for absolution.”

“You’re in the wrong place for that!” She fell silent for a moment, shoulders slumped. Then, after a deep breath: “Nurse tells me you came straight here after the party, reeking of booze.”

“So?”

“There was another detective . . .”

“Stone,” Rebus acknowledged. “He wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to pull the plug on the patient.”

“There’s not a shred of subtlety in your whole damned body, is there?”

“Are you saying I’m like a bull in a china shop?”

“What do you think?”

He considered the question for all of five seconds. “Maybe the bull’s just running from the abattoir,” he told her, readying to get to his feet. Clarke got up, too, looking bemused and watching as he leaned over the bed, willing Cafferty to wake up.

“You’re really going to tell him what Goodyear did?” she asked.

“What’s the alternative?”

“The alternative is, you leave it to me.” They’d started heading for the exit. “Little turd’s not going to get away with this. Things have changed, John—no cover-ups, no turning a blind eye . . .”

“That reminds me,” he said. “I paid a visit to the Andersons yesterday.”

She stared at him. “Having fully apprised them of your noncombat status?”

“Their daughter was home from college. She really does look a lot like Nancy.”

“What are you saying?”

“I took Roger Anderson outside and told him I reckoned he’d recognized Nancy that night. Recognized her from the DVD, I mean. He liked the feeling of power it gave him, knowing something she didn’t. That’s why he kept pestering her. He didn’t like it when I added that maybe it also had something to do with her resemblance to his daughter.” He allowed himself a smile at the memory. “That’s when I told him who the girl in the bathroom was . . .”