Fox was getting to his feet, seemingly impatient. ‘A phone call would have done the job every bit as well.’

‘But then I’d have been deprived of your company, Malcolm.’

‘Come to me with evidence, John. Maybe then we can cut a deal.’

‘You think I’m doing this to save my own skin?’

‘I don’t really care why you’re doing it. All I know is there’s going to be fallout and you could end up doing time.’ Fox paused. ‘I’m here if and when you decide to talk.’

‘And if I’d prefer a more neutral face?’

‘There’s always Geoff Dickinson at Organised Crime.’

‘You’d give him the credit rather than taking it for yourself?’

‘Maybe that’s because I doubt there’ll be any credit to take.’

Fox left the café, marching along the pavement as if on parade.

‘Same prick you always were,’ Rebus muttered. Some sauce had dripped from his roll onto the plate. He looked at it, then touched it with a fingertip, transferring it to his mouth.

Hard evidence …

‘Might be able to help you there, Malky,’ Rebus said to himself, getting to grips with the roll again. Then, after a further moment’s thought, ‘Never even asked about my face …’

Katherine Trask stomped into her office from the press conference, slamming the door after her.

‘Looks like it went well,’ George Gamble chuckled from behind his desk.

‘Should we maybe make her a coffee?’ Ritchie asked.

‘Only if it’s from the jar marked Valium, son.’

‘Besides,’ Christine Esson added, ‘door closed equals not to disturb, remember?’ She was standing next to the murder wall, checking the timeline. They now had Drifter’s, the casino and two taxis, but the thinking was, Haggard would have been unlikely to undertake the long walk home from Corstorphine. Stood to reason there was one last taxi trip still to be accounted for. Cheryl and her sister had been asked and swore he hadn’t been back, so what else had he done with himself?

Esson returned to her computer and replayed the casino footage. Something had been niggling at her, and now she realised what it was. She pulled up the list of belongings found on the body. It took her a moment to realise Ritchie was standing at her shoulder.

‘Look at this,’ she said, showing him the footage. ‘What’s our victim doing?’

‘Getting money from a cash machine.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Putting it in his pocket.’ Ritchie couldn’t see where this was going.

‘He takes the receipt too, though, doesn’t he?’ Esson jabbed at the screen. ‘But it’s not listed among his effects.’

‘Probably tossed it, same as I’d have done.’

‘He pockets it along with the notes,’ Esson stated, playing the footage one more time.