His phone was ringing. He got to it before the machine.

‘Hello?’

‘CID awakes. It’s like a Ray Harryhausen film.’ Pete Hewitt from Howdenhall. ‘Look, I shouldn’t be doing this, but strictly off the record …’

‘What?’

‘All those forensic checks we ran on you – nothing. I expect they’ll get round to telling you officially, but I thought I’d put your mind at rest.’

‘If only you could, Pete.’

‘Hard night?’

‘Another one for the record books. Thanks, Pete.’

‘Bye, Inspector.’

Rebus didn’t put down the receiver; called Siobhan instead. Got her answering machine. Told her he was at home. Another home number, this time answered.

‘What?’ The voice groggy.

‘Morning, Gill.’

‘John?’

‘Alive and kicking. How did it go?’

‘I talked with Malcolm Toal, I think he’s good as gold – that is, when he’s not hitting his head against the cell wall – but …’

‘But?’

‘But I’ve passed everything on to the Squaddies. They’re the experts, after all.’ Silence. ‘John? Look, I’m sorry if you think I bottled out …’

‘You can’t see me smiling. You played it just right, Gill. You’ll get your share of the glory, but let them do the dirty work. You’ve learned.’

‘Maybe I had a good teacher.’

He laughed quietly. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘John … thanks … for everything.’

‘Want to know a secret?’

‘What?’

‘I’m on the wagon.’

‘Good for you. I’m really impressed. What happened?’

Jack slouched into the room, yawning and scratching his head.

‘I had a good teacher,’ Rebus said, replacing the receiver.

‘I heard the phone,’ Jack said. ‘Any coffee on the go?’

‘In the kettle.’

‘Want one?’

‘Go on then.’ Rebus went into the hall and picked up his mail. One envelope was fatter than the others. London postmark. He tore it open as he walked through to the kitchen. There was another envelope inside, fat, with his name and address printed on it. There was also a single sheet of notepaper. Rebus sat down at the table to read it.

It was from Lawson Geddes’ daughter.

My father left the enclosed envelope with instructions that it should be sent on to you. I’m just back from Lanzarote, having had to arrange not only the funeral but the sale of my parents’ house and the sorting out and removal of all their things. As you may remember, Dad was a bit of a magpie. Apologies for the slight delay in sending this on, which I trust you will understand. Hoping all is well with you and your family.

She’d signed it Aileen Jarrold (née Geddes).

‘What is it?’ Jack asked as Rebus tore open the second envelope. He read the first couple of lines, then looked up at Jack.

‘It’s a very long suicide note,’ he said. ‘From Lawson Geddes.’

Jack sat down and they read it together.

John, I’m sitting here writing this in the full and certain knowledge that I’m about to top myself: we always called it the coward’s way out, remember? I’m not so sure about that now, but I get the feeling I’m maybe being more selfish than cowardly exactly, selfish because I know the telly are looking at Spaven again – they’ve even sent a team to the island. This isn’t about Spaven, it’s about Etta. I miss her, and I want to be with her, even if all the afterlife consists of is my bones lying next to hers somewhere.