‘Sorry to muck up your weekend,’ Rebus told him, as he got out of Ancram’s car.

‘Remember,’ Ancram called to Jack, ‘don’t let him out of your sight. If he goes for a dump, I want you keeking through the key-hole. If he says he’s putting the rubbish out, I want you inside one of the bags. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Jack said.

The police driver was asking Rebus where he should park the Saab. Rebus pointed to the double yellow line at the bottom of the street. The windscreen still boasted its Grampian Police Business sign. Rebus was in no hurry to tear it off. Ancram got out of his driving seat and opened the rear door. His driver handed Rebus the keys to the Saab and his suitcase out of the boot, and got into his boss’s car, adjusting the seat and the rearview. Rebus and Jack watched Ancram being driven away.

‘So,’ Rebus said, ‘I hear you’re with the Juice Church these days.’

Jack wrinkled his nose. ‘I can take or leave the holy roller stuff, but it’s helped me give up the hooch.’

‘That’s great.’

‘How come I never know when you’re being serious?’

‘Years of practice.’

‘Nice holiday?’

‘Nice doesn’t begin to describe it.’

‘I see your face took a dunt.’

Rebus touched his temple. The swelling was going down. ‘Some people get temperamental when you beat them to the sunbeds.’

They climbed the stairwell, Jack a couple of steps behind Rebus.

‘Are you seriously not going to let me out of your sight?’

‘That’s what the boss wants.’

‘And what he wants he gets?’

‘If I know what’s good for me. It’s taken me a lot of years to come to the conclusion that I do want what’s good for me.’

‘So speaks the philosopher.’ Rebus put his key in the lock, pushed the door open. There was some mail on the hall carpet, but not much. ‘You realise this is probably against a couple of dozen laws. I mean, you can’t just follow me around if I don’t want you to.’

‘So take it to the Court of Human Rights.’ Jack followed Rebus into the living room. The suitcase stayed out in the hall.

‘Fancy a drink?’ Rebus asked.

‘Ha ha.’

Rebus shrugged, found a clean glass and poured himself some of Kayleigh Burgess’s whisky. It went down without touching the sides. He exhaled noisily. ‘You must miss it though?’

‘All the time,’ Jack admitted, slumping on to the sofa.

Rebus poured another. ‘I know I would.’

‘That’s half the battle.’

‘What?’

‘Admitting you’d have a problem without it.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

Jack shrugged, got to his feet again. ‘Mind if I make a phone call?’

‘My home is your home.’

Jack walked over to the telephone. ‘Looks like you’ve got some messages. Want to play them?’

‘They’ll all be from Ancram.’

Jack lifted the receiver, pressed seven digits. ‘It’s me,’ he said at last. ‘We’re here.’ Then he put the telephone down.