The Oxford Bar’s back room was mid-evening quiet when Clarke arrived. Rebus was nursing a half-pint at one of the tables. She stared at it.

‘Things that bad?’

‘I brought the car.’

‘Walk would have been good for you.’

‘The downhill bit, yes.’

‘Your face looks sore.’

‘Tripped over Brillo’s lead.’

‘That’s the best story you could come up with?’

‘It’ll do till I can think of another.’

She shook her head before fetching herself a gin and tonic and perching opposite him, pressing a hand to her stomach.

‘Are congratulations in order?’ he asked.

‘Laura made me eat too much pasta.’

‘Any progress on the Molotov?’

‘Ronnie Ogilvie owes me a call.’ She lifted her phone, checking she had a signal. ‘How about you?’

‘I’m ticking over. Media seems to have gone quiet on Francis Haggard.’

‘There’s not been much we felt like sharing.’

‘Finished with those Complaints files?’

She nodded thoughtfully, her eyes meeting his. ‘Can I ask you something? In confidence, I mean? Proper confidence rather than the usual?’

‘Go ahead.’

She lifted her glass. ‘There’s talk of a promotion.’

‘Not before bloody time.’

‘It comes with strings attached. I’d be moved to Professional Standards.’

‘Those are pretty big strings.’ He thought for a moment. ‘You’d be mad not to, though.’ He watched her nod slowly. ‘Is this Fox’s doing? You hand him me and the others, he ensures you get a poke of sweets?’

‘I’m convinced it’s just Fleck he wants. He took me to see Josephine Kilgour – you know her?’

‘I know the name.’

‘It was such an ugly job back then, and it’s not exactly a beauty contest today. If there are no consequences, nothing will change.’

‘There usually are consequences, though – you just don’t always get to see them.’

‘What do you mean?’

Rebus was saved from forming an answer by the sudden buzzing of her phone. She held it to her ear.

‘Ronnie? Talk to me …’ She listened, eyes moving from her glass to Rebus and back again. ‘Might make sense,’ she said eventually. ‘When will you lift him? … Well, let me know. And that’s good work, well done … I know, but you did the rest. Cheers.’

She ended the call and turned her attention back to Rebus. ‘Range Rover was seen in the vicinity of the fire. It’s registered to Gareth Crosbie. He works as a nightclub doorman and lives at an address in Craigmillar.’ She paused. ‘In point of fact, he lives upstairs from the Moorfoot public house.’

‘That’s because he owns it,’ Rebus said. ‘I’ve had dealings with the guy.’

‘Me too. He’s pally with both Gaby Mackenzie and the Crew.’

‘You can place him at the scene of the blaze?’

‘Not exactly. But he was on Broughton Street a few minutes after.’

‘Then he needs to be spoken to.’