‘It’s all going to come out, John, one way or the other. Malcolm Fox is in town, and though he’s no longer working Complaints, he’d like nothing more than to hang a whole laundry’s-worth of cops, serving and otherwise, out to dry. Either Haggard spills his guts to a jury, or else he gives it to Fox with the promise that a trial will at the very least go easy on him.’

‘I told you, I don’t know Francis Haggard.’

‘Well, he’s ready to drop you from a great height with no parachute.’

The silence lengthened between them until Clarke retrieved her bag and reached into it, bringing out a large padded envelope.

‘The Jack Oram inquiry,’ she said. ‘Everything I could dig out. Talk to me and I’ll hand it over.’

She drank as she watched Rebus weigh up his options. ‘Oh,’ she added, ‘and I ran a check on Oram’s son, Tommy.’

‘Do I need to trade for that, too?’

‘Not much to tell. Usual teenage misdemeanours. More recently there was an accusation of theft, but that didn’t get anywhere.’

‘What kind of theft?’

‘He was working on the electrics in somebody’s flat. Money went missing.’

‘He’s an electrician?’

Clarke shook her head. ‘More of an odd-job man. Works for a lettings company. Something needs fixing in one of their properties, he goes in.’

Rebus’s whole body seemed to have stiffened. ‘Which company?’ He watched Clarke shrug. ‘QC Lettings?’

‘That sounds about right. Looks like I’ve touched a nerve.’

‘Their office was the last sighting of Tommy’s dad.’

‘So why are you interested? You were cagey when you phoned.’

Rebus had finished his drink. He fetched the last two cans, opening hers, giving her little alternative.

‘I don’t know what it is about Tynie,’ he said as he sat back down. ‘You’re right that it’s always had a smell about it. Not sure the blame rests with Alan Fleck or any other single individual. It’s almost the building itself. When you walk in, you can sense an atmosphere. I’m not much of a one for the supernatural, but if you told me it was built on an old Indian burial ground, I’d be tempted to believe you.’

Clarke picked up her can, found it empty, and reached instead for its replacement. Beer on top of gin – her head would be pounding later.

‘I’m not exactly sure,’ Rebus went on, ‘what stories Haggard will have on him. I very much doubt any of them will be corroborated by his colleagues.’

‘Corroboration or not, if the stories are juicy enough, the media will run with them.’

‘So Police Scotland have sent Malcolm Fox to initiate the cover-up? And first thing Malcolm did was ask you to suspend the inquiry? I bet that went down well.’