By this time there was loud support in the media for an early release, nullified when Spaven assaulted another prisoner severely enough to cause brain damage. Spaven’s pieces from jail became more eloquent than ever – the man had been jealous of all the attention, had attempted to murder Spaven in the corridor outside his cell. Self-defence. And the crunch: Spaven would not have been placed in this invidious position were it not for a gross miscarriage of justice. The second instalment of Spaven’s autobiography ended with the Elsie Rhind case, and with mention of the two police officers who’d framed him – Lawson Geddes and John Rebus. Spaven reserved his real loathing for Geddes, Rebus just a bit-player, Geddes’ lackey. More media interest. Rebus saw it as a revenge fantasy, planned over long incarcerated years, Spaven unhinged. But whenever he read Spaven’s work, he saw powerful manipulation of the reader, and he thought back to Lawson Geddes on his doorstep that night, to the lies they told afterwards …

And then Lenny Spaven died, committed suicide. Took a scalpel to his throat and opened it up, a gash you could fit your hand inside. More rumour: he’d been murdered by jailers before he could complete volume three of his autobiography, detailing his years and depredations in several Scottish prisons. Or jealous prisoners had been allowed access to his cell.

Or it was suicide. He left a note, three drafts crumpled on the floor, maintaining to the end his innocence in the Elsie Rhind killing. The media started sniffing their story, Spaven’s life and death big news. And now … three things.

One: the incomplete third volume of autobiography had been published – ‘heart-breaking’ according to one critic, ‘a massive achievement’ for another. It was still on the bestseller list, Spaven’s face staring out from bookshop windows all along Princes Street. Rebus tried to avoid the route.

Two: a prisoner was released, and told reporters he was the last person to see or speak to Spaven alive. According to him, Spaven’s last words were: ‘God knows I’m innocent, but I’m so tired of saying it over and over.’ The story earned the ex-offender £750 from a newspaper; easy to see it as flannel waved at a gullible press.

Three: a new TV series was launched, The Justice Programme, a hard-hitting look at crime, the system, and miscarriages of justice. High ratings for its first series – attractive presenter Eamonn Breen scooping women viewers – so now a second series was on the blocks, and the Spaven case – severed head, accusations, and suicide of a media darling – was to be the showcase opener.

With Lawson Geddes out of the country, address unknown, leaving John Rebus to carry the film-can.

Alex Harvey: ‘Framed’. Segue to Jethro Tull: ‘Living in the Past’.

He went home by way of the Oxford Bar – a long detour, always worthwhile. The gantry and optics had a quietly hypnotic effect, the only possible explanation as to why the regulars could stand and stare at them for hours at a stretch. The barman waited for an order; Rebus did not have a ‘usual’ drink these days, variety the spice of life and all that.