hand option, into King's Stables Road. Passing the car park, he stopped for a moment.
There was just the one vehicle on Level Zero, the ground floor.
Driver would have to get a move on, the place was due to close in the next ten or so minutes. The car was parked in the bay next to where Todorov had been attacked. There was no sign of any hooded woman begging for sex. Rebus lit a cigarette and kept moving.
He didn't know what his plan was. King's Stables Road would join Lothian Road in a minute, and he'd be facing the Caledonian Hotel. Was Sergei Andropov still there? Did Rebus really intend a further confrontation?
'Nice night for it,' he repeated to himself.
But then he thought of those Grassmarket pubs. It would make more sense to retrace his steps, have a nightcap, and take a taxi home. He turned on his heels and started back. As he approached the car park again, he saw the last car leaving. It stopped kerbside, and its driver got out, retreating to the exit. He unlocked some metal shutters which started to creep downwards with an electric hum. The driver didn't wait to watch them drop. He was in the car and heading towards the Grassmarket.
The good-looking security guard, Gary Walsh. Parked on Level Zero… Hadn't he told Rebus he always parked next to the security cabin on the next floor up? The shutters were closed now, but there was a little viewing window at chest height. Rebus crouched a little so he could peer inside. The lights were still on; maybe they stayed that way all night. Up in the corner, he could see the security camera. He remembered what Walsh's colleague had said: camera used to point pretty much at that spot… but it gets moved around… Made sense to Rebus – if you worked in a multistorey you'd want your car where the cameras could keep an eye on it. Sod anyone else, just so long as your car was safe…
Macrae's words: less to this than meets the eye. All those connections… Cath Mills, aka the Reaper, asking Rebus about one-night stands and flings with workmates… Alexander Todorov, on his
way back from a day in Glasgow: a curry with Charles Riordan, one drink on Cafferty's tab, and semen on his underpants.
The woman in the hood.
Less to this than meets the eye…
Cherchez la femme…
The poet and his libido. There was a Leonard Cohen album called Death of a Ladies' Man. One of its tracks: 'Don't Go Home With Your Hard-On'. Another: 'True Love Leaves No Traces'.
Trace evidence: blood on the car park floor; oil on the dead man's clothes; semen stains…
Cherchez la femme.
The answer was so close, Rebus could almost taste it.
Day Nine. Saturday 25 November 2006
43
Bright and early that morning, Rebus took his ticket from the machine and watched the barrier shudder upwards. He had entered by the car park's top level on Castle Terrace, but followed the signs to the next level down. There were plenty of empty bays near the guardroom. Rebus walked over to the door and gave a knock before pushing it open.
'What's up?' Joe Wills asked, hands cupped around a mug of black tea. His eyes narrowed as he placed Rebus.
'Hello again, Mr Wills – rough night, was it?' Wills hadn't shaved, his eyes were red-rimmed and bleary, and he hadn't got round to putting his tie on yet.
'Few drinks I was having,' the man started to explain, 'and the Reaper catches me on the mobile – Bill Prentice has gone and pulled a sickie and can I do his morning shift?'
'And despite everything, you were happy to oblige – that's what I call loyalty.' Rebus saw the newspaper on the worktop. Polonium210 was being blamed for Litvinenko's death; Rebus had never heard of it.
'What do you want anyway?' Joe Wills was asking. 'Thought you lot had finished.' Rebus noticed that Wills's mug was emblazoned with the name of a local radio station, Talk 107. 'Don't suppose you've any milk on you?' the man asked. But Rebus's attention was on the CCTV screens.
'Do you drive to work, Mr Wills?'
'Sometimes.'
'I remember you saying you'd had a “prang”.'
'Car still runs.'
'Is it here just now?'
'No.'
'Why's that then?' But Rebus held up a finger. Tou'd still not pass a breathalyser, am I right?' He watched Wills nod. 'Very sensible of you, sir. But the times you do drive to work, I'm betting you keep the car where you can see it?'
'Sure.' Wills took a sip of tea, squirming at its bitterness.
'Covered by one of the cameras, in other words?' Rebus nodded towards the bank of screens. 'Always park in the same spot?'
'Depends.'
'How about your colleague? Would I be right in thinking Mr Walsh prefers the ground floor?'
'How do you know that?'
Again, Rebus ignored the question. 'When I was here the first time,' he said instead, 'day after the murder, if you remember…'
Tes?'
'… the cameras downstairs weren't covering the spot where the attack took place.' He gestured towards one of the screens. 'You told me one camera used to, but it got moved around. But now I see it's been shifted again, so it's covering… here's another wild guess coming up – the bay where Mr Walsh parks?'
'Is this going anywhere?'
Rebus managed a smile. 'Just wondering this, Mr Wills: when exactly did that camera get moved?' He was leaning over the figure of the guard. 'Last shift you did before the murder, I'm betting it was pointing where it is now. Between times, someone tampered with it.'
'I told you – it gets moved around.'
Rebus wasn't six inches from Wills when he next spoke. Tfou know, don't you? You're not the sharpest tack in the carpet, but you worked it out before any of us. Have you told anyone, Mr Wills? Or are you good at keeping secrets? Maybe you just want the quiet life, a few drinks at night and some milk to go with your tea. You're not about to grass up a mate, are you? But here's my advice, Mr Wills, and it really would be in your interest to take it.' Rebus paused, ensuring he had the man's undivided attention.
'Don't say a fucking word to your workmate. Because if you do, and I get to hear about it, I'll have you in the cells rather than him, understood?'
Wills had stopped moving, the mug trembling slightly in his hands.
'Do we have an understanding?' Rebus persisted. The guard did no more than nod, but Rebus hadn't quite finished with him.
'An address,' he said, placing his notebook on the worktop. 'Write it down for me.' He watched Joe Wills put down the mug and start to comply. Walsh's batch of CDs was in its usual place; Rebus doubted Wills would have much use for them. 'And one last thing,'
