Break-time. Ancram and Grogan went into the corridor for a chat. Lumsden stood by the door, arms folded, thinking he was on guard duty, thinking Rebus wasn’t pumped-up enough to rip his head off.

But Rebus just sat there drinking what was left of his coffee. It tasted disgusting, so probably was unleaded. He took out his cigarettes, lit one, inhaled like it might be his last. He held the cigarette vertical, wondered how something so small and brittle could have taken such a hold over him. Not so very different from this case … The cigarette wavered: his hands were shaking.

‘This is you,’ he told Lumsden. ‘You’ve sold your boss a story. I can live with that, but don’t think I’ll forget.’

Lumsden stared at him. ‘Do I look scared?’

Rebus stared back, smoked his cigarette, said nothing. Ancram and Grogan came back into the room, all business-like.

‘John,’ Ancram said, ‘CI Grogan and I have decided this would be best dealt with in Edinburgh.’

Meaning they couldn’t prove a thing against him. If there was the slightest possibility, then Grogan would want a home collar.

‘There are disciplinary matters here,’ Ancram went on. ‘But they can be dealt with as part of my inquiry into the Spaven case.’ He paused. ‘Shame about DS Holmes.’

Rebus went for it, had to. ‘What about him?’

‘When we went to pick up the Spaven casenotes, some clerk told us there’d been a lot of interest in them recently. Holmes had consulted them three days in a row, apparently for hours at a time – when he should have been on regular duties.’ Another pause. ‘Your name was down, too. Apparently you visited him. Going to tell me what he was up to?’

Silence.

‘Removing evidence?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘That’s the way it looks. Stupid move, whatever it was. He’s refusing to talk, facing disciplinary action. He could be out on his ear.’

Rebus kept his face a blank; not so easy to blank his heart.

‘Come on,’ Ancram said, ‘let’s get you out of here. My driver can take your car, we’ll take mine, maybe have a wee chat on the road.’

Rebus stood up, walked over to Grogan, who straightened his shoulders as if expecting physical assault. Lumsden clenched his fists, ready. Rebus stopped with his face inches from Grogan’s.

‘Are you on the take, sir?’ It was fun to watch the balloon fill with blood, highlighting burst veins and ageing lines.

‘John …’ Ancram warned.

‘It’s an honest question,’ Rebus went on. ‘See, if you’re not, you could do a lot worse than put a surveillance on two Glasgow hoods who seem to be holidaying up here – Eve and Stanley Toal, only his real name’s Malky. His dad’s called Joseph Toal, Uncle Joe, and he runs Glasgow, where CI Ancram works, lives, splashes out money and buys his suits. Eve and Stanley drink at Burke’s Club, where coke isn’t something in a long glass with ice. DS Lumsden took me there, looked like he’d been before. DS Lumsden reminded me that Johnny Bible had picked out his first victim there. DS Lumsden drove me down to the harbour that night, I didn’t ask to be taken there.’ Rebus looked over at Lumsden. ‘He’s a canny operator, DS Lumsden. The games he plays, no wonder he’s called Ludo.’