the stairs. 'Is it worth trying to talk to someone called Gill Morgan at 16 Great Stuart Street?'
'Up to you,' Rebus said. He was looking over his shoulder towards the door of Nancy Sievewright's flat. 'She's an anomaly, though.'
'How so?'
'Every other bugger in this case seems to use the Caledonian like a home from home.'
Clarke was smiling a little smile as the door opened behind them. It stayed open as Nancy Sievewright padded down the stairs towards them.
'There's something you can do for me,' she said, voice lowered.
'What's that, Nancy?'
'Keep that creep away from me.'
The two detectives shared a look. 'Which creep is that?' Clarke asked.
'The one with the wife, the one who phoned 999…'
'Roger Anderson?' Rebus's eyes had narrowed.
Nancy gave a nervous nod. 'He was round here yesterday. I wasn't in, but he must have waited. He was parked outside when I got back.'
'What did he want?'
'Said he was worried about me, wanted to make sure I was all right.' She was heading back up the steps again. 'I'm done with that.'
'Done with what?' Rebus called, but she didn't answer, just closed the door softly after her.
'Bloody hell,' Clarke whispered. 'What was all that about?'
'Something to ask Mr Anderson. Funny, I was just thinking to myself that Nancy looks a bit like his daughter.'
'How did he get her address?'
Rebus just shrugged. 'It'll keep,' he stated, after a moment's thought. 'I've another little mission for you tonight…'
Another little mission: meaning she was on her own when she met with Macrae in his office. He'd been out to some function or other and was dressed in a dinner jacket and black bowtie. There was a driver waiting outside to take him home. As he sat behind his desk, he removed the tie and undid his top button. He'd fetched himself a glass of water from the cooler and was waiting for Clarke to say something. She cleared her throat, cursing Rebus. His reasoning: Macrae would listen to her. That was the whole of it.
'Well, sir,' she began, 'it's about Alexander Todorov.'
'You've got someone in the frame?' Macrae had brightened, but only until she shook her head.
'It's just that we think there may be more to it than a mugging gone wrong.'
'Oh yes?'
'We've not got much in the way of evidence as yet, but there are a lot of…' A lot of what? She couldn't think of a convincing way of putting it. 'There are a lot of leads we need to follow, and mostly they point away from a random attack.'
Macrae leaned back in his chair. 'This sounds like Rebus,' he stated. 'He's got you in here arguing his corner.'
'Doesn't mean I don't agree with him, sir.'
'Sooner you're free of him the better.' Clarke prickled visibly, and Macrae gave a little wave of apology. 'You know what I mean, Siobhan. How long till he goes? A week… and what happens then?
Will the case be closed by the time he packs his bags?'
'Doubtful,' Clarke conceded.
'Meaning you'II be left with it, Siobhan.'
'I don't mind that, sir.'
Macrae stared at her. 'Reckon it's worth a few more days, this hunch of his?'
'It's more than a hunch,' Clarke stressed. 'Todorov connects to a number of people, and it's a matter of ruling them out rather than ruling anything in.'
'And what if there's less to this than meets the eye? We've been here before with John after all.'
'He's solved a lot of cases in his time,' Clarke stated.
You make a good character witness, Siobhan.' Macrae was smiling tiredly. 'I know John outranks you,' he said eventually, 'but I want you in charge of the Todorov murder. Makes things easier, as he himself would admit.'
Clarke nodded slowly, but said nothing.
'Two or three days – see what you can come up with. You've got Hawes and Tibbet – who else are you going to bring aboard?'
'I'll let you know.'
Macrae grew thoughtful again. 'Someone from the Russian embassy spoke to Scotland Yard… and they spoke to our dear Chief Constable.' He sighed. 'If he knew I was letting John Rebus anywhere near this, he'd have kittens.'
'They make nice pets, sir,' Clarke offered, but Macrae just glowered.
'It's why you're in charge, Siobhan, not John. Is that clear?'
“Yes, sir.'
I'm guessing he's skulking nearby, waiting for you to report back to him?'
Tou know him too well, sir.'
Macrae made a little gesture with his hand, telling her she was dismissed. She wandered back through the CID suite and down to the lobby, where she saw a face she recognised. Todd Goodyear had either finished a shift or was working undercover, dressed as he was in black straight-leg denims and a black padded bomber jacket. Clarke made show of trying to place him.
'The Todorov crime scene? PC Goodyear?'
He nodded, and glanced towards the folder she was still carrying.
“You got my notes?'
'As you can see…' She was playing for time, wondering why he was there.
'Were they all right?'
'They were fine.' He looked keen for a bit more than that, but she just repeated the word 'fine', then asked what he was doing.
Waiting for you,' he owned up. 'I'd heard tell you worked late.'
'Actually, I just got here twenty minutes ago.'
He was nodding. 'I was outside in the car.' He glanced over her shoulder. 'DI Rebus isn't with you?'
'Look, Todd, what the hell is it you want?'
Goodyear licked his lips. 'I thought PC Dyson told you – I'm after a stint with CID.'
'Good for you.'
'And I wondered if you maybe needed someone…” He let the sentence drift off.
With Todorov, you mean?'
'It'd be a chance for me to learn. That was my first murder scene… I'd love to know what happens next.'
'What happens next is a lot of slogging, most of it with nothing to show at the end.'
'Sounds great.' He offered her a grin. 'I write a good report, DS Clarke… I don't miss too many tricks. I just feel I could be doing more.'
'Persistent little sod, aren't you?'
'Let me try to convince you over a drink.' 'I'm meeting someone.'
'Tomorrow, then? I could buy you a coffee.'
'Tomorrow's Saturday, and DCI Macrae hasn't put together a budget.'
'Meaning no overtime?' Goodyear nodded his understanding.
Clarke thought for a moment. 'Why me rather than Rebus? He's the ranking officer.'
'Maybe I thought you'd be a better listener.'
