'This one,' she'd said at another point, 'is called “Raskolnikov”
– I remember it from the book. Raskolnikov's a character in Crime and Punishment.'
'A book I'd probably read before you were even born.'
'You've read Dostoevsky?'
“You think I'd lie about something like that?'
'What's it about then?'
'It's about guilt. One of the great Russian novels, in my opinion.'
'How many others have you read?'
'That's neither here nor there.'
Now, as she turned the CD off, he swivelled towards her. 'You've listened to the show, you've been through Todorov's book – have you found anything resembling a motive for his killing?'
'No,' she conceded. 'And I know what you're thinking – Macrae's going to treat it as a mugging gone wrong.'
'Which is pretty well how the consulate wants to see it handled, too.'
She gave a slow, thoughtful nod. 'So who did he have sex with?'
she eventually asked.
'Is it relevant?'
We won't know till we know. Most likely candidate is Scarlett ColwelL'
'Because she's a stunner?' Rebus sounded dubious.
'Can't bear to think of her with anyone else?' Clarke teased.
'What about Miss Thomas at the Poetry Library?' But this time Clarke gave a snort.
'I don't see her as a contender,' she explained.
'Dr Colwell didn't seem so sure.'
'Which probably says more about Dr Colwell than Ms Thomas.'
'Maybe young Colin had a point,' Rebus ploughed on. 'Or it's just as likely our red-blooded poet picked up a tart in Glasgow.' He saw Clarke's look. 'Sorry, I should have said “sex worker” – or has the terminology changed again since I last got my knuckles rapped?'
'Keep going and I'll rap them again.' She paused for a moment, eyes still fixed on him. 'Funny to think of you reading Crime and Punishment.' She took a deep breath. 'I did a search on Harry Goodyear.'
'Thought you might.' He turned his attention to the windscreen and the bleak car park beyond. Clarke could see that he wanted to wind down the window so he could smoke. But the smell was out there, lying in wait just above the level of the tarmac.
'He was a pub landlord in Rose Street, mid-eighties,' she said.
'You were a detective sergeant. You helped put him away.'
'He was dealing drugs from the premises.'
'He died in jail, didn't he? Just a year or two after… bad heart or something. Todd Goodyear wouldn't long have been out of nappies.'
She paused in case he had anything to add, then went on. Todd's got a brother, did you know that? Name's Sol, been on our radar a few times. I say that, but actually he lives in Dalkeith, making him E Division's problem. Guess what he's been in trouble for.'
'Drugs?'
'So you know about him?'
Rebus shook his head. 'Educated guess.'
'And you didn't know Todd Goodyear was in the police?'
'Believe it or not, Shiv, I don't keep tabs on the grandkids of villains I locked up two decades back.'
'Thing is, we didn't just get Sol for possession – we tried to have him for dealing, too. Court gave him the benefit of the doubt.'
Rebus turned towards her. 'How do you know all this?'
'I was in the office before you this morning. Few minutes on the computer and one phone call to Dalkeith CID. Rumour at the time was, Sol Goodyear was dealing on behalf of Big Ger Cafferty.'
She could see straight away that she'd struck a nerve: Cafferty was unfinished business – big unfinished business – his name top of Rebus's 'to do' list. Cafferty had made a decent fist of looking like a retired villain, but Rebus and Clarke knew better.
Cafferty still ran Edinburgh.
And had found himself a place at the top of her list, too.
'Is any of this leading somewhere?' Rebus asked, turning his attention back to the windscreen.
'Not really.' She ejected the CD from its slot. The radio blasted into life – Forth 1, the DJ talking twenty to the dozen. She switched it off. Rebus had noticed something.
'Didn't know there was a camera there,' he said. He meant at the corner of the building, between the first and second storeys. The camera was pointing into the car park.
'They reckon it stops vandalism. Reminds me actually – think there's any point looking at city-centre footage from the night Todorov was killed? Bound to be cameras at the west end of Princes
Street, maybe on Lothian Road, too. If someone was shadowing him…' She let the sentence drift.
'It's an idea,' he admitted.
'Needle in a haystack,' she added. His silence seemed to confirm it and she rested her head against the back of the seat, neither of them in any hurry to go back inside. 'I remember reading in a paper that we've got the most surveillance of any country in the world; more CCTV in London than the whole of the USA… can that be right?'
'Can't say I've noticed it reducing the crime stats.' Rebus's eyes narrowed. 'What's that noise?'
Clarke saw that Tibbet was gesturing from an upstairs window.
'I think we're wanted.'
'Maybe guilt got the better of our killer and he's come to hand himself in.'
'Maybe,' Clarke said, not believing it for one moment.
8
'Been here before?' Rebus asked, once they'd passed through the metal-detector. He was scooping loose change back into his pocket.
'Got the guided tour soon after it opened,' Clarke admitted.
There were indented shapes in the ceiling; Rebus couldn't tell if they were supposed to be Crusader-style crosses. Plenty of activity in the main entrance hall. Tables had been set up for the tour parties, ID badges lying on them and placards to say which groups were expected. Staff were everywhere, ready to direct visitors to the reception desk. At the far end of the hall, some schoolkids in uniform were settling down for an early lunch.
'First time for me,' Rebus told Clarke. 'Always wondered what four hundred million pounds looks like…'
The Scottish Parliament had divided public opinion from the moment its plans were revealed in the media. Some thought it bold and revolutionary, others wondered at its quirks and its price tag.
The architect had died before completing the project, as had the man who'd commissioned it. But it was built now and working, and Rebus had to admit that the debating chamber, whenever he'd seen it on the TV news, looked a bit special.
When they told the woman on the reception desk that they were here to see Megan Macfarlane, she printed out a couple of visitor passes. A call to the MSP's office confirmed that they were expected, and another member of staff stepped forward and asked them to follow him. He was a tall, brisk-stepping figure and, like the receptionist, probably not a day under sixty-five. They followed him down corridors and up in a lift and down more corridors.
'Plenty of concrete and wood,' Rebus commented.
'And glass,' Clarke added.
