Cafferty watched as Rebus poured and downed a final drink, then walked to the sofa, picking up the saltire cushion. He was carrying it in front of him as he approached the wheelchair.

‘A young man’s going to jail because of what you did to his dad all those years ago. A young man who saved my skin. Means I owe him, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Cafferty started to say. ‘You know it doesn’t—’

Rebus muffled the rest of the sentence, pushing the cushion hard into Cafferty’s face. The man was strong; he got a grip of Rebus’s wrists and tried to dislodge him, reminding Rebus of how close he’d come to dying on the floor of the Moorfoot. When Cafferty realised his efforts were futile, he scrabbled for the wheelchair’s controls, propelling it backwards. It didn’t get far, brought to a halt by impact with the heavy coffee table. The front wheels lifted off the ground as Rebus continued to press, Cafferty’s muffled protestations growing weaker over time.

Rebus could still hear singing coming from the Meadows, and a dog barking, and a distant siren. Somewhere, someone needed help. Somewhere, bad things were happening. He’d spent his whole life in that world, a city perpetually dark, feeling increasingly weighed down, his heart full of headstones.

There would be frost on the paths in the morning. He would have to be careful when he took Brillo for his first walk of the day.

Now

As senior counsel readied to pronounce, Rebus looked at all the cameras situated around the courtroom, broadcasting their images to the distant jury.

Cameras: he had failed to take them into account. Bought after the attack that had put Cafferty in the wheelchair, placed surreptitiously around the airy living room, recording Rebus’s assault and the eventual faltering of that assault as he thought of his daughter and granddaughter, imagining them visiting him in the prison that would be home until he died. So he had removed the cushion from Cafferty’s face, watching the man taking in huge gulps of air, hoarse sounds escaping his throat. Then he had walked away, saying nothing, not looking back.

And Cafferty had died anyway, his heart giving out, leaving Rebus on a murder charge.

All at once, he felt his balance start to go and reached out for the handrail in front of him. His heart was pounding and the pain in his chest was a constant now. The judge had noticed and held a hand up to pause proceedings.

‘Is the accused feeling all right?’

‘Just a bit dizzy there for a second.’

‘A glass of water?’

Rebus shook his head.

‘Very well. Pray continue, Mr Bartleby.’