Grogan spoke very quietly. ‘It’s not a warning, Inspector.’

‘What is it then?’

‘You say when you left Burke’s you went for a walk?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘Duthie Park.’

‘A fair hike.’

‘I’m a big Dancing Pigs fan.’

‘Dancing Pigs?’

‘A band, sir,’ Lumsden said, ‘they were playing a concert last night.’

‘It talks.’

‘No need for that, Inspector.’ Grogan was standing behind Rebus. The invisible interrogator: did you turn to face him, or did you stare at the wall? Rebus had played the trick himself many a time. Objective: unnerve the prisoner.

Prisoner – Jesus.

‘You’ll remember, sir,’ Lumsden said, voice almost atonal, ‘that’s the route Michelle Strachan took.’

‘That’s true, isn’t it, Inspector? I expect you knew that.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, you’ve been taking a great interest in the Johnny Bible case, haven’t you?’

‘I’ve been involved tangentially, sir.’

‘Oh, tangentially?’ Grogan came back into view, showing yellow teeth that looked like they’d been filed short. ‘Well, that’s one way of putting it. DS Lumsden says you seemed very interested in the Aberdeen side of the case, kept asking him questions.’

‘With respect, that’s DS Lumsden’s interpretation.’

‘And what’s yours?’ Leaning over the desk, fists resting on it. Getting in close. Objective: cow the suspect, show him who’s boss.

‘Mind if I smoke?’

‘Answer the question!’

‘Stop treating me like a fucking suspect!’

Rebus regretted the outburst immediately – sign of weakness, sign he was rattled. In army training, he’d survived days on end of interrogation techniques. Yes, but back then his head had been emptier; there’d been less to feel guilty about.

‘But, Inspector,’ Grogan sounding hurt by the flare-up, ‘that’s precisely what you are.’

Rebus grabbed at the edge of the table, feeling its rough metal edge. He tried to stand, but his legs failed him. He probably looked like he was crapping himself, forced his hands to release the table.

‘Yesterday evening,’ Grogan said coolly, ‘a woman’s body was found in a crate on the dockside. Pathologist reckons she was killed some time the previous night. Strangled. Raped. One of her shoes is missing.’

Rebus was shaking his head. Sweet Jesus, he was thinking, not another one.

‘There’s no sign that she fought back, no skin beneath the fingernails, but she could have lashed out with her fists. She had the look of a strong woman, tenacious.’

Involuntarily, Rebus touched the bruise on his temple.

‘You were down near the docks, Inspector, and in a foul mood according to DS Lumsden.’

Rebus was on his feet. ‘He’s trying to stitch me up!’ Attack, they said, was the best form of defence. Not necessarily true, but if Lumsden wanted to play dirty, Rebus would give as good as he got.

‘Sit down, Inspector.’

‘He’s trying to protect his fucking clients! How much do you take a week, Lumsden? How much do they slip you?’

‘I said sit down!’

‘Sod you,’ said Rebus. It was like a boil had burst; he couldn’t halt the outpour. ‘You’re trying to tell me I’m Johnny Bible! I’m nearer Bible John’s age, for Christ’s sake.’