'Absolutely.'

'And we suddenly become a Celtic tiger?'

'The Labour Party has been failing the people of Scotland for fifty years, Inspector. It's time for a change.'

Queuing at the counter, she announced that this would be her 'treat'. Rebus ordered an espresso, Clarke a small cappuccino.

Macfarlane herself opted for a black coffee into which she poured three sachets of sugar. There were tables nearby, and they chose an empty one, pushing aside the leftover crockery.

'We're still in the dark,' Rebus said, lifting his cup. 'I hope you don't mind me getting straight to the point, but as you said yourself, we've got a murder inquiry waiting for us back at base.'

'Absolutely,' Macfarlane agreed. Then she paused for a moment, as if to marshal her thoughts. 'How much do you know about me?'

she began by asking.

Rebus and Clarke shared a look. 'Until we were told to come see you,' Rebus obliged, 'neither of us had ever heard of you.'

The MSP, trying not to show any pain, blew across the surface of her coffee before taking a sip.

'I'm a Scottish Nationalist,' she said.

'That much we'd guessed.'

'And that means I'm passionate about my country. If Scotland is to flourish in this new century – and flourish outwith the confines of the UK – we need enterprise, initiative and investment.' She counted these three off on her fingers. 'That's why I'm an active member of the URC – the Urban Regeneration Committee. Not that our remit is purely urban, you understand; in fact, I've already

proposed a name-change in order to make that clear.'

'Forgive me for interrupting,' Clarke said, having noted Rebus's agitation, 'but can I ask what any of this has to do with us?'

Macfarlane lowered her eyes and gave a little smile of apology.

'I'm afraid when I'm passionate about something, I do tend to rabbit on.'

Rebus's glance towards Clarke said it all.

'This unfortunate incident,' Macfarlane was saying, 'involving the Russian poet…'

'What about it?' Rebus prompted.

'Right now, a group of businessmen is in Scotland – a very prosperous group, and all of them Russian. They represent oil, gas and steel, and other industries besides. They are looking to the future, Inspector – Scotland 's future. We need to ensure nothing jeopardises the links and relationships that we've painstakingly fostered over the past several years. What we certainly don't want is anyone thinking we're not a welcoming country, a country that embraces cultures and nationalities. Look at what happened to that young Sikh lad…'

Tou're asking us,' Clarke summarised, 'if this was a racial attack?'

'One of the group has voiced that concern,' Macfarlane admitted.

She looked towards Rebus but he was staring at the ceiling again, still not sure about it. He'd heard that its concave sections were supposed to look like boats. When he turned his attention back to the MSP, her worried face demanded some reassurance.

'We can't rule anything out,' he decided to tell her instead.

'Could have been racially motivated. The Russian consulate told us as much this morning – there've been attacks on some of the migrant workers from Eastern Europe. So it's certainly a line we'll be following.'

She looked shocked by these words, just as he'd intended. Clarke was hiding her smile behind a raised cup. Rebus decided there was more fun to be had. 'Would any of these businessmen have met with Mr Todorov recently? If so, it would be helpful to talk to them.'

Macfarlane was saved from answering by the appearance of a new arrival. Like Rebus and Clarke, he wore a badge which proclaimed him a visitor.

'Megan,' he drawled, 'I saw you from the reception desk. Hope I'm not interrupting?'

'Not at all.' The MSP could hardly disguise her relief. 'Let me get

you a coffee, Stuart.' Then, to Rebus and Clarke: 'This is Stuart Janney, from First Albannach Bank. Stuart, these are the officers in charge of the Todorov case.' Janney shook hands before pulling over a chair.

'I hope you're both clients,' he said with a smile.

'State of my finances,' Rebus informed him, 'you should be happy I'm with the competition.'

Janney made a show of wincing. He'd been carrying his trench coat over one arm, and now folded it across his lap. 'Grim news about that murder,' he said, while Macfarlane rejoined the queue at the counter.

'Grim,' Rebus echoed.

'From what Ms Macfarlane just said,' Clarke added, 'I'm guessing she's already spoken with you about it.'

'Happened to come up in conversation this morning,' Janney acknowledged, running a hand through his blond hair. His face was freckled, the skin pink, reminding Rebus of a younger Colin Montgomerie, and his eyes were the same dark blue as his tie.

Janney seemed to have decided that further explanation was needed. 'We were on the phone to one another.'

'Are you something to do with these Russian visitors?' Rebus asked. Janney nodded.

'FAB never turns away prospective customers, Inspector.'

FAB: it was how most people referred to the First Albannach Bank. It was a term of affection, but behind it lay one of the biggest employers – and probably the most profitable company – in Scotland. The TV adverts showed FAB as an extended family, and were filmed almost as mini-soaps, while the bank's brand-new corporate HQ – built on green-belt land, despite the protests – was a city in miniature, complete with shopping arcade and cafes. Staff could get their hair done there, or buy food for the evening meal.

They could use the gym or play a round of golf on the company's own nine-hole course.

'So if you're looking for someone to manage that overdraft…'

Janney handed out business cards. Macfarlane laughed when she saw it, before passing him his black coffee. Interesting, Rebus thought: he takes it the same way she does. But he'd bet that if Janney was out with an important customer, whatever the customer ordered would be Janney's drink of choice, too. The Police College at Tulliallan had run a course on it a year or two back: Empathic Interviewing Techniques. When questioning a witness or a suspect, you tried to find things you had in common, even if

that meant lying. Rebus had never really got round to trying it, but he could tell that someone like Janney would be a natural.

'Stuart's incorrigible,' the MSP was saying. 'What have I told you about touting for business? It's unethical.' But she was smiling as she spoke, and Janney gave a quiet chuckle, while sliding his business cards closer to Rebus and Clarke.

'Mr Janney,' Clarke began, 'tells us the pair of you were discussing Alexander Todorov.'

Megan Macfarlane nodded slowly. 'Stuart has an advisory role in URC 'I didn't think FAB would be pro-Nationalist, Mr Janney,' Rebus said.

'Completely neutral,' Janney stressed. 'There are twelve members of the Urban Regeneration Committee, Inspector, representing five political parties.'

'And how many of them did you speak to on the phone today?'

'So far, only Megan,' the banker admitted, 'but then it's not quite lunchtime.' He made show of checking his watch.

'Stuart is our three-I consultant,' Macfarlane was saying. 'Inward Investment Initiatives.'

Rebus ignored this. 'Did Ms Macfarlane ask you to drop by, Mr Janney?' he asked. When the banker looked to the MSP, Rebus had his answer. He turned his attention to Macfarlane herself. 'Which businessman was it?'

She blinked. 'Sorry?'

'Which one was it who seemed so concerned about Alexander Todorov?'

'Why do you want to know?'

'Is there any reason I shouldn't know?' Rebus raised an eyebrow for effect.

'The Inspector's got you cornered, Megan,' Janney was saying with a lopsided smile. He got a baleful look in return, which had gone by the time Macfarlane turned towards Rebus.