‘Everything all right?’ Mairie asked him.

He stared at her for a moment, not really seeing anything, then pulled her to him and planted a kiss on her cheek.

‘Mairie, you’re perfect.’

She turned to Jack Morton.

‘I second that,’ he said.

Sitting in his car, Bible John had watched Rebus and friend drive out of Arden Street. His business had kept him an extra day in Edinburgh. Frustrating, but at least he’d been able to take another look at the policeman. It was hard to tell from a distance, but Rebus seemed to sport bruises on his face, and his clothes were dishevelled. Bible John couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed: he’d been hoping for a more worthy adversary. The man looked dead done in.

Not that he thought them adversaries, not really. Rebus’s flat had not thrown up much, but it had revealed that Rebus’s interest in Bible John was connected to the Upstart. Which went some way towards explaining it. He hadn’t stayed as long in the flat as he would have liked. Being unable to pick the lock, he’d been forced to break the door. He couldn’t know how long it would take for neighbours to spot something. So he had been swift, but then there’d been so little in the flat worth his attention. It told him something about the policeman. He felt now that he knew Rebus, at least to a degree – he felt the loneliness of his life, the gaps where sentiment and warmth and love should have been. There was music, and there were books, but neither in great quantity nor of great quality. The clothes were utilitarian, one jacket much like another. No shoes. He found that bizarre in the extreme. Did the man possess only one pair?

And the kitchen: lacking in utensils and produce. And the bathroom: needing redecorating.

But back in the kitchen, a small surprise. Newspapers and cuttings hastily hidden, easily found. Bible John, Johnny Bible. And evidence that Rebus had gone to some trouble: the original papers must have been bought from a dealer. An investigation within the official investigation, that was what it looked like. Which made Rebus more interesting in Bible John’s eyes.

Paperwork in the bedroom: boxes of old correspondence, bank statements, very few photographs – but enough to show that Rebus had once been married, and had a daughter. Nothing recent though: no photos of the daughter grown-up, no recent photos at all.

But the one thing he’d come here for … his business card … no sign of it at all. Which meant either that Rebus had thrown it away, or that he carried it with him still, in a jacket pocket or wallet.

In the living room, he noted Rebus’s telephone number, then closed his eyes, making sure he had committed the flat’s layout to memory. Yes, easy. He could come back here at dead of night and walk through the place without disturbing anything or anyone. He could take John Rebus any time he wanted to. Any time at all.