Ian Rankin - Exit Music

The Inspector Rebus Series

Knots & Crosses

Hide & Seek

Tooth & Nail

A Good Hanging and Other Stories

Strip Jack

The Black Book

Mortal Causes

Let It Bleed

Black & Blue

The Hanging Garden

Death Is Not the End (A Novella)

Dead Souls

Set in Darkness

The Falls

Resurrection Men

A Question of Blood

Fleshmarket Alley

The Naming of the Dead

Other Novels

Witch Hunt

Blood Hunt

Bleeding Hearts

Watchman

Ian Rankin is a #1 international bestselling author. Winner of an Edgar Award and the recipient of a Gold Dagger for fiction and the Chandler-Fulbright Award, he lives in Edinburgh, Scotland, with his wife and their two sons.

T he girl screamed once, only the once, but it was enough. By the time the middle-aged couple arrived at the foot of Raeburn Wynd, she was kneeling on the ground, hands over her face, shoulders heaving with sobs. The man studied the corpse for a moment, then tried shielding his wifes eyes, but she had already turned away. He took out his phone and called the emergency number. It was ten minutes before the police car arrived, during which time the girl tried to leave, the man explaining calmly that she should wait, his hand rubbing her shoulder. His wife was seated curbside, despite the nighttime chill. November in Edinburgh, not quite cold enough for a frost but heading that way. Kings Stables Road wasnt the busiest of thoroughfares. A No Entry sign prevented vehicles using it as a route from the Grassmarket to Lothian Road. At night it could be a lonely spot, with not much more than a multistory car park on one side, Castle Rock and a cemetery on the other. The street lighting seemed underpowered, and pedestrians kept their wits about them. The middle-aged couple had been to a carol service in St. Cuthberts Church, helping raise money for the citys childrens hospital. The woman had bought a holly wreath, which now lay on the ground to the left of the corpse. Her husband couldnt help thinking: a minute either way and we might not have heard, might be heading home in the car, the wreath on the back seat and Classic FM on the radio.

I want to go home, the girl was complaining between sobs. She was standing, knees grazed. Her skirt was too short, the man felt, and her denim jacket was unlikely to keep out the cold. She looked familiar to him. He had consideredbriefly consideredlending her his coat. Instead, he reminded her again that she needed to stay put. Suddenly their faces turned blue. The police car was arriving, lights flashing.

Here they come, the man said, placing his arm around her shoulders as if to comfort her, removing it again when he saw his wife was watching.

Even after the patrol car drew to a halt, its roof light stayed on, engine left running. Two uniformed officers emerged, not bothering with their caps. One of them carried a large black torch. Raeburn Wynd was steep and led to a series of mews conversions above garages that would once have housed the monarchs carriages and horses. It would be treacherous when icy.

Maybe he slipped and banged his head, the man offered. Or he was sleeping rough, or had had a few too many...

Thank you, sir, one of the officers said, meaning the opposite. His colleague had switched the torch on, and the middle-aged man realized that there was blood on the ground, blood on the slumped bodys hands and clothes. The face and hair were clotted with it.

Or someone smashed him to a pulp, the first officer commented. Unless, of course, he slipped repeatedly against a cheese grater.

His young colleague winced. Hed been crouching down, the better to shine light onto the body, but he rose to his feet again. Whose is the wreath? he asked.

My wifes, the man stated, wondering afterwards why he hadnt just said mine.

Jack Palance, Detective Inspector John Rebus said.

I keep telling you, I dont know him.

Big film star.

So name me a film.

His obituarys in the Scotsman.

Then you should be clued up enough to tell me what Ive seen him in. Detective Sergeant Siobhan Clarke got out of the car and slammed shut the door.

He was the bad guy in a lot of Westerns, Rebus persisted.

Clarke showed her warrant card to one of the uniforms and took a proffered torch from the younger of the two. The Scene of Crime Unit was on its way. Spectators had started gathering, drawn to the scene by the patrol cars blue beacon. Rebus and Clarke had been working late at Gayfield Square police station, hammering out a theorybut no prime suspectin an unsolved investigation. Both had been glad of the break provided by the summons. Theyd arrived in Rebuss wheezing Saab 900, from the boot of which he was now fetching polythene overshoes and latex gloves. It took him half a dozen noisy attempts to slam shut the lid.

Need to trade it in, he muttered.

Whod want it? Clarke asked, pulling on the gloves. Then, when he didnt answer: Were those hiking boots I glimpsed?

As old as the car, Rebus stated, heading towards the corpse. The two detectives fell silent, studying the figure and its surroundings.

Someones done a job on him, Rebus eventually commented. He turned towards the younger constable. Whats your name, son?

Goodyear, sir... Todd Goodyear.

Todd?

Mums maiden name, sir, Goodyear explained.

Ever heard of Jack Palance, Todd?

Wasnt he in Shane?

Youre wasted in uniform.

Goodyears colleague chuckled. Give young Todd here half a chance, and its you hell be grilling rather than any suspects.

Hows that? Clarke asked.

The constableat least fifteen years older than his partner and maybe three times the girthnodded towards Goodyear. Im not good enough for Todd, he explained. Got his eyes set on CID.

Goodyear ignored this. He had his notebook in his hand. Want us to start taking details? he asked. Rebus looked towards the pavement. A middle-aged couple were seated curbside, holding hands. Then there was the teenage girl, arms wrapped around herself as she shivered against a wall. Beyond her the crowd of onlookers was starting to shuffle forward again, warnings forgotten.

Best thing you can do, Rebus offered, is hold that lot back till we can secure the scene. Doctor should be here in a couple of minutes.

Hes not got a pulse, Goodyear said. I checked.

Rebus glowered at him.

Told you they wouldnt like it, Goodyears partner said with another chuckle.

Contaminates the locus, Clarke told the young constable, showing him her gloved hands and overshoes. He looked embarrassed.

Doctor still has to confirm death, Rebus added. Meantime, you can start persuading that rabble to get themselves home.

Glorified bouncers, thats us, the older cop told his partner as they moved off.

Which would make this the VIP enclosure, Clarke said quietly. She was checking the corpse again. Hes well enough dressed, probably not homeless.

Want to look for ID?

She took a couple of steps forward and crouched beside the body, pressing a gloved hand against the mans trouser and jacket pockets. Cant feel anything, she said.

Not even sympathy?

She glanced up at Rebus. Does the suit of armor come off when you collect the gold watch?

Rebus managed to mouth the word ouch. Reason theyd been staying late at the office so oftenRebus only ten days from retirement, wanting loose ends tied.

A mugging gone wrong? Clarke suggested into the silence.

Rebus just shrugged, meaning he didnt think so. He asked Clarke to shine the torch down the body: black leather jacket, an open-necked patterned shirt that had probably started out blue, faded denims held up with a black leather belt, black suede shoes. As far as Rebus could tell, the mans face was lined, the hair graying. Early fifties? Around five feet nine or ten. No jewelry, no wristwatch. Bringing Rebuss personal body count to... what? Maybe thirty or forty over the course of his three-decades-plus on the force. Another ten days, and this poor wretch would have been somebody elses problemand still could be. For weeks now hed been feeling Siobhan Clarkes tension: part of her, maybe the best part of her, wanted Rebus gone. It was the only way she could start to prove herself. Her eyes were on him now, as if she knew what he was thinking. He offered a sly smile.