‘There were rumours it happened to Bible John.’

Ancram shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. But see, here’s the crux of the matter. If your chum Geddes became obsessed with Spaven, and stitched him up – with your help, wittingly or unwittingly … Well, you know what that means?’

Rebus nodded, but couldn’t say the words: they’d been choking him for weeks. They’d choked him back then for a few weeks, too.

‘It means,’ Ancram went on, ‘the real killer got away with it. Nobody’s ever tried looking for him, he’s scot free.’ He smiled at this last phrase, then sat back in his chair. ‘Now I’m going to tell you something about Uncle Joe.’ He had Rebus’s attention. ‘He’s probably involved in drug dealing. Big profits, unlikely he wouldn’t want some. But Glasgow was sewn up years ago, and rather than get into a war we think he’s been casting his net wider.’

‘As far as Aberdeen?’

Ancram nodded. ‘We’re compiling a file prior to setting up a surveillance op in conjunction with the Squaddies.’

‘And every surveillance you’ve tried in the past has failed.’

‘There’s a double loop to this one: if someone leaks word to Uncle Joe, we’ll know where the leak started.’

‘So you end up with either Uncle Joe or the grass? It might work … if you don’t go around telling everyone about it.’

‘I’m trusting you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you could fuck things up, pure and simple.’

‘You know, I’ve been here before, people telling me to lay off, leave everything to them.’

‘And?’

‘And they’ve usually had something to hide.’

Ancram shook his head. ‘Not this time. But I do have something to offer. Like I say, personally I’ve no interest in the Spaven case, but professionally I’m duty bound to do my job. Thing is, there are ways and ways of presenting a report. I could minimise your part in the whole thing, I could leave you out altogether. I’m not telling you to drop any investigation; I’m just asking you to freeze it for a week or so.’

‘And let the trail grow cold, maybe enough time for a few more suicides and accidental deaths?’

Ancram looked exasperated.

‘Just do your job, Chief Inspector,’ Rebus said. ‘And I’ll do mine.’ Rebus got to his feet, looked for the paper with the Johnny Bible story, stuffed it in his pocket.

‘Here’s the deal,’ Ancram said, smouldering. ‘I’m going to have a man with you at all times, reporting back to me. It’s either that or a suspension.’

Rebus jerked his thumb towards the window. ‘Him out there?’ The driver was enjoying a smoke in the sunshine. Ancram shook his head.

‘Someone who knows you better.’

Rebus came up with the answer a second before Ancram spoke.

‘Jack Morton.’

He was waiting for Rebus outside the flat. Water was dribbling down the dishels from where neighbours were cleaning their cars. Jack had been sitting in his own car, windows rolled down, his paper open at the crossword. Now he was out of the car and had his arms folded, head inclined to the sun’s rays. He was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and faded jeans, newish white trainers on his feet.