‘You’re the first person I’ve told.’

‘Well, they could find out anyway. Maybe Fergie’s nerve went, maybe he owned up. Maybe they just guessed.’

‘Plenty of maybes.’

‘What else have we got?’ He paused, chewing. ‘What about the other snitches you inherited?’

‘What about them?’

‘Snitches hear things, maybe Fergie wasn’t the only one who knew about this drugs thing.’

Gill was shaking her head. ‘I asked him at the time. He seemed confident it was being kept very quiet. You’re assuming he was killed. Remember, he has a history of bad nerves, mental problems. Maybe the fear just got too much for him.’

‘Do us both a favour, Gill, stick close to the investigation. See what the neighbours say: did he have any visitors this morning? Anyone out of the ordinary or suspicious? See if you can check his phone calls. My bet is it’ll go down as an accident, which means no one’s going to be working too hard on it. Push them, ask favours if you have to. Did he normally go for morning walks?’

She was nodding. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes … who’s got the keys to his house?’

Gill made the calls, and they drank coffee until a DC turned up with the keys, fresh from the mortuary. Gill had asked about the Spaven case, Rebus giving only vague answers. Then they’d talked about Johnny Bible, Allan Mitchison … all shop-talk, steering a wide berth around anything personal. But at one point they’d locked eyes, shared a smile, knowing the questions were there, whether they asked them or not.

‘So,’ Rebus said, ‘what do you do now?’

‘About the gen McLure gave me?’ she sighed. ‘There’s nowhere to go with it, it was all so vague – no names or details, no date for the meeting … it’s gone.’

‘Well, maybe.’ Rebus lifted the keys, shook them. ‘Depends whether you want to come snooping or not.’

The pavements in Ratho were narrow. To keep his distance from Gill, Rebus walked on the road. They didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. This was their second evening together; Rebus felt comfortable sharing everything but close proximity.

‘That’s his car.’

Gill walked around the Volvo, peered in through the windows. On the dashboard a small red light was blinking: the automatic alarm. ‘Leather upholstery. Looks straight out of the showroom.’

‘Typical Feardie Fergie car though: nice and safe.’

‘I don’t know,’ Gill mused. ‘It’s the turbo version.’

Rebus hadn’t noticed. He thought of his own aged Saab. ‘Wonder what’ll happen to it …’

‘Is this his house?’

They walked up to the door, used a mortise and a yale to open it. Rebus turned on the hall lights.

‘Do you know if any of our lot has been in here?’ Rebus asked.

‘As far as I know, we’re the first. Why?’

‘Just trying out a scenario or two. Say someone came to see him here, and they frightened him. Say they told him to take a walk …’

‘Yes?’