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.
'And thanks for the lunch,' she said, as soon as he was out of earshot.
Rebus thought he knew why they could barely hold a five-minute conversation without starting to snipe at one another. It was bound to be a tense time, him leaving the field of battle, her on the cusp of promotion. They'd worked together so long – been friends almost as long… Bound to be a tense time.
Everyone assumed that they'd slept together at some point down the line, but no way either of them would have let it happen. How could they have worked as partners afterwards? It would have been all or nothing, and they both loved the job too much to let anything else get in the way. The one thing he'd made her promise was that there'd be no surprise parties his last week at work. Their boss at Gayfield Square had even offered to host something, but Rebus had thanked him with a shake of the head.
'You're the longest-serving officer in CID,' DCI Macrae had persisted.
'Then it's the folk who've put up with me who deserve the medal,'
Rebus had retorted.
The cordon was still in place at the bottom of Raeburn Wynd, but one of the locals ducked beneath the blue- and-white-striped tape, resistant to the idea that anywhere in Edinburgh could be off limits to him. Or so Rebus surmised by the hand gesture the man made when warned by Ray Duff that he was contaminating a crime scene. Duff was shaking his head, more in sorrow than anything else, when Rebus approached.
'Gates reckoned this is where I'd find you,' Rebus said. Duff rolled his eyes.
'And now you're walking all over my locus.'
Rebus answered with a twitch of the mouth. Duff was crouching beside his forensic kit, a toughened red plastic toolbox bought from B amp;Q. Its myriad drawers opened concertina-style, but Duff was in the process of closing them.
'Thought you'd be putting your feet up,' Duff commented.
'No you didn't.'
Duff laughed.'True enough.'
'Any joy?' Rebus asked.
Duff snapped shut the box and lifted it with him as he got to his feet. 'I wandered as far as the top of the lane, checking all the garages along the way. Thing is, if he'd been attacked up there, we'd have traces of blood on the roadway.' He stamped his foot to reinforce the point.
'And?'
“The blood's elsewhere, John.' He gestured for Rebus to follow
and took a left along King's Stables Road. 'See anything?'
