‘You forgot the postcode,’ Rebus said, folding his arms.

‘That was the voice of DI Rebus. Also present is DI Jack Morton, Falkirk CID, currently on secondment to Strathclyde Police, Glasgow.’

Ancram glanced at his notes, picked up the Bic and ran through the first couple of lines. Then he picked up a plastic beaker of water and sipped from it, watching Rebus over the rim.

‘Any time you’re ready,’ Rebus told him.

Ancram was ready. Jack sat by the table on which the tape machine sat. Two mikes ran from it to the desk, one pointing towards Ancram, one towards Rebus. From where he was sitting, Rebus couldn’t quite see Jack. It was just him and Ancram, the chessboard set for play.

‘Inspector,’ Ancram said, ‘you know why you’re here?’

‘Yes, sir. I’m here because I’ve refused to give up an investigation into possible links between Glaswegian gangster Joseph Toal, the Aberdeen drug market, and the murder of an oil-worker in Edinburgh.’

Ancram flicked through the casenotes, looking bored.

‘Inspector, you know that interest in the Leonard Spaven case has been revived?’

‘I know the TV sharks have been circling. They think they can smell blood.’

‘And can they?’

‘Just a leaky old ketchup bottle, sir.’

Ancram smiled; it wouldn’t come over on the recording.

‘CI Ancram smiles,’ Rebus said, for the record.

‘Inspector,’ referring to his notes, ‘what started this media interest?’

‘Leonard Spaven’s suicide, added to his public notoriety.’

‘Notoriety?’

Rebus shrugged. ‘The media get a vicarious thrill from reformed thugs and murderers, especially when they show some artistic leaning. The media often aspire to art themselves.’

Ancram seemed to expect more. They sat in silence for a moment. Cassette whirr; motor noise. Someone along the corridor sneezed. No sunshine today: iron-clad skies forecasting rain; a bitter wind off the North Sea.

Ancram sat back in his chair. His message to Rebus: I don’t need the notes, I know this case. ‘How did you feel when you heard Lawson Geddes had killed himself?’

‘Gutted. He was a good officer, and a good friend to me.’

‘You had your differences though?’

Rebus tried to hold the stare; ended up blinking first. Thought: of such accumulated setbacks were battles lost.

‘Did we?’ Old trick, answer a question with a question. Ancram’s look said it was a tired move.

‘I’ve had my men talk to some serving officers from the time.’ A glance towards Jack, not even lasting a second. Drawing Jack in. Good tactics, sowing doubt.

‘We had minor disagreements, same as everybody else.’

‘You still respected him?’

‘Present tense.’

Ancram bowed his head, acknowledging this. Fingered his notes, like stroking a woman’s arm. Possessive. But doing it for comfort too, for reassurance.

‘So, you worked well together?’

‘Pretty well. Mind if I smoke?’

‘We’ll have a break at …’ checking his watch, ‘eleven forty-five. Fair enough?’

‘I’ll try to survive.’

‘You’re a survivor, Inspector. Your record speaks for itself.’

‘So talk to my record.’

A quick smile. ‘When did you find out that Lawson Geddes had it in for Leonard Spaven?’