'Right now?' Gaverill checked his watch.

'Soon as possible, while the memory's still fresh. We could have someone here in ten or fifteen minutes…' Meaning half an hour.

'Meant to ask, Mr Gaverill,' Rebus butted in, 'what's your line of work?'

'Auctions,' Gaverill told him. 'I pick stuff up and sell it on.'

'Flexible hours,' Rebus argued. “You can always explain to Irene that you were with a punter.'

Clarke gave a little cough, but Gaverill hadn't read anything into Rebus's words. 'Ten minutes?' he asked.

'Ten or fifteen,' Clarke assured him.

Lunchtime sandwiches: they'd given their orders to Goodyear, Rebus stressing that it was all part and parcel of the training. Roger and Elizabeth Anderson had gone home; so had Nancy Sievewright.

Hawes and Tibbet had gleaned nothing new from either interview.

Rebus was studying the computer image of a woman's face. Gaverill had insisted that most of it be left in shadow, the hood pulled low over the forehead.

'Nobody we know,' Clarke said, not for the first time. Gaverill had just left, and not in the best of moods – it had taken almost an hour for the ID expert, with the help of his laptop, printer and software, to put together the e-fit.

'Could be anybody,' Rebus said in response to Clarke's statement.

'Still… let's say she was there, whoever she is.'

Tou buy Gaverill's story?'

Tou mean you don't?'

'He seemed genuine to me,' Goodyear piped up, before quickly adding: 'for what it's worth.'

Rebus gave a snort and dumped the remains of his filled roll into the bin, brushing his shirt free of crumbs.

'So now,' Hawes added, 'we've got a woman trying to lure men into the car park to have quick, meaningless sex with her?' She paused. 'I can see where Siobhan has a problem.'

'Tends not to happen too often,' Clarke agreed, 'unless the boys know different?'

Rebus looked to Tibbet and Tibbet looked to Goodyear; none of them said anything.

'A hooker, then,' Tibbet decided to offer.

'Sex worker,' Rebus corrected him.

'But the Andersons and Nancy Sievewright walked right past the car park and didn't see a woman in a hood.'

'Doesn't mean she wasn't there, Colin,' Rebus pointed out.

'There's a term for it, isn't there?' Goodyear asked. 'When a woman sets a man up…'

'Honey trap,' Rebus told him. 'So are we back to the mugging theory again? It's not an MO I've come across – not in Edinburgh.

And here's another thing – forensics say Todorov had had sex that day.'

The room was quiet for a moment as they tried to untangle the various threads. Clarke sat with her elbows on the desk, face in her hands. Eventually she looked up.

'Is there anything at all stopping me from coming to the obvious conclusion, and taking that conclusion to DCI Macrae? Victim was robbed, beaten, left for dead.' She nodded towards the e-fit. 'And here's the only suspect we have.'

'So far,' Rebus cautioned. 'But Macrae said we've got a few days to keep digging, so why not use them?'

'And dig where exactly?'

Rebus tried to think of an answer, but gave up. He gestured for Clarke to follow him into the corridor, Hawes and Tibbet looking hurt by the snub. Rebus paused at the top of the stairs. Clarke was approaching, arms folded.

'Are you sure,' Rebus asked her, 'that Phyl and Col are okay with Goodyear suddenly appearing on the team?'

'How do you mean?'

'I mean he's not one of us.'

She stared at him. 'I don't think they're the ones with the

problem.' She paused before continuing. 'Do you remember your first day in CID?'

“Vaguely.'

'I remember mine like it was yesterday. The way everybody kept saying I was “fresh meat”, I thought they were vampires.' She unfolded her arms, rested her hands on her hips. Todd wants that taste of CID, John.'

'Sounds like he's got his teeth into you at any rate.'

Her smile became a scowl, but the thought of vampires had given Rebus a notion. 'Might be a long shot,' he said, 'but the guard at the car park said something about one of the bosses, the only one that ever went near the place. He called her the Reaper. Want to know why?'

'Okay then, why?' Clarke was determined not to be placated.

'On account,' Rebus told her, 'of the hood she always wears.'

Gary Walsh was in the car park's security shack, having relieved Joe Wills about an hour before. With the jacket of his uniform undone and his shirt tieless, he looked fairly relaxed.

'Money for old rope, this,' Rebus teased him as he knocked on the half-open door. Walsh slid his feet from the tabletop and pulled out his earphones, turning off the CD player. 'What're you listening to?'

'Primal Scream.'

'And what would you have done if I'd been one of the bosses?'

'Reaper's the only one we ever see.'

'So you said… Anyone told her about the murder?'

'She got it from a reporter.'

'And?' Rebus was studying a newspaper next to the radio: that afternoon's Evening News with the crossword already done.

Walsh just shrugged. 'Wanted to see the blood.'

'She sounds lovely.'

'She's all right.'

'Got a name for her?'

Walsh was studying him. Tou nicked anybody yet?'

'Not yet.'

What do you want to talk to Cath for?'

'That's her name – Cath?'

'Cath Mills.'

'Does she look anything like this?'

Walsh took the picture of the hooded woman from Rebus and stared at it unblinkingly, then shook his head.

'Sure?' Rebus said.

'Nothing like her.' Walsh handed the picture back. Who's it supposed to be?'

'Witness saw a woman hanging around outside on the night Todorov was murdered. It's a question of ruling people out.'

'Well, you can rule the Reaper out straight away – Cath wasn't here that night.'

'All the same, I'll take her phone number.'

Walsh pointed to a corkboard behind the door. 'It's up there.'

Rebus started jotting down the mobile number. 'How often does she drop by?'

'Maybe a couple of times a week – once on Joe's shift, once on mine.'

'Ever had trouble with the local prossies?'

'Didn't know there were any.'

Rebus was closing his notebook when the buzzer sounded. Walsh was looking at one of the monitors: a driver was out of his car and standing at the exit barrier.

'Is there a problem?' Walsh asked into the microphone.

'Bloody thing's just chewed up my ticket.'

Walsh rolled his eyes for Rebus's benefit. 'Been doing that a lot,'

he told him. He pushed a button and the barrier started to rise, the driver getting back behind his steering wheel without so much as a 'thanks' or 'goodbye'.

'Going to have to close that exit,' Walsh muttered, 'till they come and fix it.'

'Never a dull moment, eh?'

Walsh gave a snort. 'This woman,' he said, rising to his feet, 'reckon she had anything to do with it?'

'Why do you ask?'

Walsh was buttoning his uniform. Tou don't get many women muggers, do you?'

'Not many,' Rebus conceded.

'And it was a mugging? I mean, papers say the guy's pockets were emptied.'

'Looks that way.' Rebus paused for a moment. Tou lock up at eleven, right?'

'Right.'

'That's pretty much when the body was found.'

'Oh aye?'

'But you didn't see anything?'

'Nothing.'

'You'd have driven right past Raeburn Wynd.'

Walsh just shrugged. 'I didn't see anything and I didn't hear anything. I certainly didn't see a woman in a cloak. Probably have

scared the life out of me, with that graveyard across the road…'

He broke off, brow furrowing.

'What is it?' Rebus asked.

'Probably nothing – just thinking about those ghost tours they do… dressing up in costumes, putting a fright on the tourists…'