Exit Music (2007) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Todorov’s books had been given their own display on a table near the stairs. “Are these for sale?” he asked.
    “Indeed they are. Would you like to buy one?”
    “Would they happen to be signed?” He watched her nod. “In that case, make it half a dozen.” He was reaching into his jacket for his wallet as the librarian rose from her seat to fetch them. Feeling Clarke’s eyes on him, he mouthed something to her.
    Something very like “eBay.”
    The car had not received a ticket, but there were dirty looks from the line of motorists attempting to squeeze past. Rebus threw the bag of books onto the back seat. “Should we warn her we’re coming?”
    “Might be wise,” Clarke agreed, punching the keys on her phone and holding it to her ear. “Tell me, do you even know how to sell something on eBay?”
    “I can learn,” Rebus said. Then: “Tell her we’ll meet her at his flat, just in case he’s lying in a stupor there and we’ve got a looky-likey in the mortuary.” He stuck a fist to his mouth, stifling a yawn.
    “Get any sleep?” Clarke asked.
    “Probably the same as you,” he told her.
    Clarke’s call had connected her to the university switchboard. She asked for Scarlett Colwell and was put through.
    “Miss Colwell?” A pause. “Sorry, Doctor Colwell.” She rolled her eyes for Rebus’s benefit.
    “Ask her if she can fix my gout,” he whispered. Clarke thumped his shoulder as she began to give Dr. Scarlett Colwell the bad news.
    Two minutes later, they were heading for Buccleuch Place, a six-story Georgian block that faced the more modern (and far uglier) university edifices. One tower in particular had been voted the building most people in Edinburgh wanted to see condemned. The tower, perhaps sensing this hostility, had begun to self-destruct, great chunks of cladding falling from it at irregular intervals.
    “You never studied here, did you?” Rebus asked, as Clarke’s car rumbled across the setts.
    “No,” she said, nosing into a parking space. “Did you?”
    Rebus gave a snort. “I’m a dinosaur, Shiv—back in the Bronze Age they let you become a detective without a diploma and a mortarboard.”
    “Weren’t the dinosaurs extinct by the Bronze Age?”
    “Not having been to college, that’s just the sort of thing I wouldn’t know. Reckon there’s any chance of grabbing ourselves a coffee while we’re here?”
    “You mean in the flat?” Clarke watched him nod. “You’d drink a dead man’s coffee?”
    “I’ve drunk a damn sight worse.”
    “You know, I actually believe that.” Clarke was out of the car now, Rebus following. “Must be her over there.”
    She was standing at the top of some steps and had already unlocked the front door. She gave a little wave, which Rebus and Clarke acknowledged—Clarke because it was the right thing to do, and Rebus because Scarlett Colwell was a looker. Her hair fell in long auburn waves, her eyes were dark, her figure curvy. She wore a hugging green miniskirt, black tights, and brown calf-length boots. Her Little Red Riding Hood coat reached only as far as her waist. A gust of wind caused her to push the hair back from her eyes, and Rebus felt as if he were walking into a Cadbury’s Flake advert. He saw that her mascara was a bit blurry, evidence that she’d shed a few tears since receiving the news, but she was businesslike as the introductions were made.
    They followed her up four flights of tenement stairs to the top floor landing, where she produced another key, unlocking the door to Alexander Todorov’s flat, Rebus arriving, having paused for breath on the landing below, just as the door swung open. There wasn’t much to the apartment: a short, narrow hallway led to the living room with a kitchenette off it. There was a cramped shower room and separate toilet, and a single bedroom with views towards the Meadows. Being in the eaves of the building, the ceilings angled sharply downwards. Rebus wondered if the poet had ever