‘So tell me, what are you going to do that the rest of us can’t?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘I still don’t know if you’re on the level; I mean, you might be see-sawing.’

This time Ancram really did smile. ‘I could say the same about you and the Spaven case.’

‘Probably.’

‘I won’t be satisfied until I know. I think maybe that makes us similar.’

‘Look, Ancram, we walked into that lock-up and the bag was there. Does it matter how we came to be there?’

‘It could have been planted.’

‘Not with my knowledge.’

‘Geddes never confided? I thought the two of you were close?’

Rebus was on his feet. ‘I may not be around for a day or two. All right?’

‘No, it’s not all right. I’ll expect you here tomorrow, same time.’

‘For Christ’s sake …’

‘Or we can turn the machine back on right now and you can tell me what you know. That way, you’ll have all the time in the world. And I think you’ll find it easier to live with yourself, too.’

‘Living with myself has never been the problem. Breathing the same air as people like you – that’s my problem.’

‘I’ve already told you, Strathclyde Police and the Squaddies are planning an operation …’

‘One that’ll get nowhere, because for all we know half the Glasgow force is in Uncle Joe’s pocket.’

‘I’m not the one who goes visiting him at home, with a word put in by a certain Morris Cafferty.’

There was a sudden tightening around Rebus’s chest. Coronary, he thought. But it was only Jack Morton, arms holding him, stopping him moving in on Ancram.

‘Tomorrow morning, gentlemen,’ Ancram said, like they’d had a useful session.

‘Yes, sir,’ Jack said, hustling Rebus out of the room.

Rebus told his friend to get them on to the M8.

‘No way, José.’

‘Then park near Waverley, we’ll take the train.’

Jack didn’t like the way Rebus looked: like his wiring was shorting out. You could almost see the sparks behind his eyes.

‘What are you going to do in Glasgow? Walk up to Uncle Joe and say, “Oh, by the way, your woman’s shagging your son”? Even you can’t be that stupid.’

‘Of course I’m not that stupid.’

‘Glasgow, John,’ Jack pleaded. ‘It’s not our territory. I’ll be back in Falkirk in a few weeks, and you …’

Rebus smiled. ‘Where’ll I be, Jack?’

‘God and the Devil know.’

Rebus was still smiling; thought to himself: I’d rather be the devil.

‘You’ve always got to be the hero, haven’t you?’ Jack asked.

‘Time loves a hero, Jack,’ Rebus told him.

On the M8, halfway between Edinburgh and Glasgow, slowed by syrupy traffic, Jack tried again.

‘This is crazy. I mean really crazy.’

‘Trust me, Jack.’

‘Trust you? The guy who tried to lay me out two nights back? With friends like you …’

‘… you’ll never be short of enemies.’

‘There’s still time.’

‘Not really, you just think there is.’