‘Rhona gave it to me, the first birthday I had after we were married. Bought it at a craft fair, thought it’d remind me of Fife.’ He was studying the painting and shaking his head.

‘I take it it didn’t?’

‘I come from west Fife – mining villages, rough – not the East Neuk.’ All fishing creels, tourists and retirement homes. ‘I don’t think she ever understood.’ He took the painting through to the hall.

‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ Jack said.

‘And on police time. Which would you rather do, paint the walls, strip the door, or fit the lock?’

‘Paint.’ With his blue boilersuit on, Jack looked the part. Rebus handed him the roller, then reached under the sheet to put the hi-fi on. Stones, Exile on Main Street. Just right. The two of them got to work.

23

They took a break and walked up Marchmont Road, buying groceries. Jack kept his boilersuit on, said he felt like he was undercover. He had a smudge of paint on his face, but didn’t bother wiping it off. He was enjoying himself. He’d sung along to the music, even though he didn’t always know the words. They bought junk food mostly, carbohydrate, but added four apples and a couple of bananas. Jack asked if Rebus was going to buy any beer. Rebus shook his head, chose Irn-Bru and bricks of orange juice instead.

‘What’s all this in aid of?’ Jack asked as they sauntered home.

‘Clearing the mind,’ Rebus answered, ‘giving me time to think … I don’t know. Maybe I’m thinking of selling.’

‘Selling the flat?’

Rebus nodded.

‘And doing what exactly?’

‘Well, I could buy a round-the-world ticket, couldn’t I? Take off for six months. Or stick the money in the bank and live off the interest.’ He paused. ‘Or maybe buy myself a place outside town.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Somewhere by the sea.’

‘That’d be nice.’

‘Nice?’ Rebus shrugged. ‘Yes, I suppose so. I just fancy a change.’

‘Right next to the beach?’

‘Could be a cliff-top, who knows?’

‘What’s brought this on?’

Rebus thought about it. ‘My home doesn’t feel like my castle any longer.’

‘Yes, but we bought all the painting stuff before the break-in.’

Rebus didn’t have an answer to that.

They worked the rest of the afternoon, windows open to let out the paint fumes.

‘Am I supposed to sleep in here tonight?’ Jack asked.

‘The spare room,’ Rebus told him.

The phone rang at half past five. Rebus got to it just as the answering machine cut in.

‘Hello?’

‘John, it’s Brian. Siobhan told me you were back.’

‘Well, she should know. How are you?’

‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Me, too.’

‘You’re not pick of the week with DCI Ancram.’

Jack Morton started to take an interest in the call.

‘Maybe not, but he’s not my boss.’

‘He has pull, though.’

‘So let him pull.’

‘Brian, I know what you’re up to. I want to talk to you about it. Can we come round there?’