The initiation ceremonies had maybe been challenging and demeaning, but that was often the way with institutions. Rebus remembered plenty of attempted humiliations from his days as an army recruit. The name-calling, the sabotaging of equipment, the cruel practical jokes, all of it could be construed as character-building, couldn’t it? Besides, those days were definitely numbered. Everyone now was a potential whistleblower, everyone had a phone to help gather evidence. If the Courant and its brethren had been around during Rebus’s heyday … well, he shuddered to think. But actually he would bet that whatever the scale of misbehaviour pointed out to them, the general public even now would be accepting, just so long as the police continued to stand firm between them and the bogeyman.

When a dog, out for a walk with its owner, paused to sniff and cock a leg against a lamppost, he remembered Brillo was waiting at home for him. He put the Saab into gear, and had just started moving when a uniform emerged from the police station. He didn’t recognise the face that held up a phone to take a photograph of vehicle and driver.

He only knew his presence had been noted.

Clarke was ten minutes early at the Oxford Bar, but Leckie was already waiting in the back room. He rose to his feet, ready to go fetch her a drink, but she waved the offer away, arriving at the table a couple of minutes later with a gin and tonic. The bar was busier than she’d hoped, but there was still a decent distance between their table and the others. Moreover, everyone seemed too interested in their own conversations to be bothered to eavesdrop. Nevertheless, she had requested that the TV be switched on. The owner, Kirsty, did the honours with the remote. Foreign football, the commentary not obtrusive but helping mask anything being discussed at the tables. Clarke nodded to let Kirsty know the volume was fine.

‘This your local?’ Leckie asked, hoisting his pint glass in a toast.

‘Once upon a time.’

‘I know John Rebus haunted the place – maybe still does, for all I know. And yes, I know you and him used to work together.’

‘You’ve been checking up on me?’

‘Lawyers like to know who they’re dealing with. Your name and his have been mentioned on the odd occasion.’

‘I’m not entirely sure I like the sound of that. Cheers.’ She touched her glass to his and took a sip.

‘How’s the case going? Am I allowed to ask?’

‘Of course you are.’

‘And?’

‘It’s confidential.’ She watched him eventually smile. ‘But let me ask you something – were you surprised when you heard?’

‘That he was dead?’ He thought about this for the best part of a minute. ‘I suppose I was and I wasn’t. I’d asked his analyst if he considered him a suicide risk. He told me it was sixty–forty against.’