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?
24
' 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.'
'I'm older than most people – got a couple of her albums at home.
Mind if I come in?' Rebus noted that Gentry had lost his bandanna but still wore the smudgy eyeliner. 'She told me to be here at three,'
he lied blithely.
'Someone was at the door for her a while back…' Gentry was reluctant, but Rebus's stare told him resistance was futile. He opened the door a little wider and Rebus gave a little bow of the head as he walked in. The living room smelt of stale tobacco and something that could have been patchouli oil – been a while since Rebus had come across that particular scent. He wandered over to the window and peered down on to Blair Street.
'Tell you a funny story,' he said, back still to Eddie Gentry.
'There's a warren of basements across the way where bands used to practise. Owner was thinking of redeveloping, so he got some builders in. They were working in these tunnels – miles and miles of them – and they started to hear unearthly groans…'
'The massage parlour next door,' Gentry said, cutting to the punchline.
“You've heard it.' Rebus turned from the window and studied some of the album sleeves – actual LPs rather than CDs. 'Caravan,'
he commented. ' Canterbury 's finest… didn't know people still listened to them.' There were other sleeves he recognised: the Fairports and Davey Graham and Pentangle.
'Somebody studying archaeology?' he guessed.
'I like a lot of the old stuff,' Gentry explained. He nodded towards the corner of the room. 'I play guitar.'
'So you do,' Rebus agreed, seeing a six-string acoustic nestling on its stand, a twelve-string lying on the floor behind it. 'Any good?'
In answer, Gentry picked up the six-string and settled on the sofa, legs crossed beneath him. He started to play, and Rebus realised that he'd grown the fingernails long on his right hand, each one a ready-made plectrum. Rebus knew the tune, even if he couldn't place it.
'Bert Jansch?' he guessed over the closing chord.
'From that album he did with John Renbourn.'
'Haven't listened to it in years.' Rebus nodded his appreciation.
Tfou're pretty good, son. Shame you can't make a living from it, eh?
Might have stopped you from dealing drugs.'
What?
' Nancy 's told us all about it.'
'Whoa, wait a minute.' Gentry put his guitar aside and rose to his feet. 'What's that you're saying?'
'A deaf musician?' Rebus sounded impressed.
'I heard the words, I just don't know why she would say that.'
'Night the poet was killed, she was picking up a delivery from the guy you introduced her to.'
'She didn't say that.' Gentry was trying to sound confident, but his eyes told Rebus a different story. 'I didn't introduce her to anybody V Rebus shrugged with his hands in his pockets. 'No skin off my nose,' he commented. 'She says you're dealing, you say you're not… We all know there's stuff being smoked here.'
'Stuff she gets from her boyfriend,' Gentry burst out. But then he corrected himself. 'He's not even her boyfriend… she just thinks he is.'
'Who's this?'
'I don't know. I mean, he's been here a couple of times, but he
