He got up from the chair, still groggy and suddenly not wanting to be. The hall light was on. The kitchen door was open. The light was on in there too …

She was standing by the table, paracetamol in one hand, a glass of water in the other. The newspaper clippings were spread in front of her. She started when she saw him, then looked at the table.

‘I was looking for coffee, thought it might sober me up. I found these instead.’

‘Casework,’ Rebus said simply.

‘I didn’t know you were attached to the Johnny Bible inquiry.’

‘I’m not.’ He gathered up the sheets and put them back in the cupboard. ‘There isn’t any coffee, I’ve run out.’

‘Water’s fine.’ She swallowed the tablets.

‘Hangover?’

She gulped water, shook her head. ‘I think maybe I can head it off.’ She looked at him. ‘I wasn’t snooping, it’s important to me that you believe that.’

Rebus shrugged. ‘If it finds its way into the programme, we’ll both know.’

‘Why the interest in Johnny Bible?’

‘No reason.’ He saw she couldn’t accept that. ‘It’s hard to explain.’

‘Try me.’

‘I don’t know … call it the end of innocence.’

He drank a couple of glasses of water, let her wander back into the living room by herself. She came out again with her jacket on, pulling her hair out from behind the collar.

‘I’d better go.’

‘Do you want me to run you somewhere?’ She shook her head. ‘What about the bottle?’

‘Maybe we can finish it another time.’

‘I can’t guarantee it’ll still be here.’

‘I can live with that.’ She walked to the front door, opened it, turned back towards him.

‘Did you hear about the drowning in Ratho?’

‘Yes,’ he said, face expressionless.

‘Fergus McLure, I interviewed him recently.’

‘Really?’

‘He was a friend of Spaven.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘No? Funny, he told me you pulled him in for questioning during the original case. Anything to say to that, Inspector?’ She smiled coldly. ‘Thought not.’

He locked the door and heard her walking downstairs, then went back into the living room and stood beside the window, looking down. She turned right, heading for The Meadows and a taxi. There was one light on across the road; no sign of Stevens’ car. Rebus fixed his eyes on his own reflection. She knew about the Spaven-McLure connection, knew Rebus had interviewed McLure. It was just the kind of ammo Chick Ancram needed. Rebus’s reflection stared back at him, mockingly calm. It took all his willpower to stop him punching out the glass.

11

Rebus was on the run – moving target and all that – morning hangover failing to slow him down. He’d packed first thing, a suitcase only half full, left his pager lying on the mantelpiece. The garage where he usually had his MOT done managed to give the Saab a once-over: tyre pressure, oil level. Fifteen minutes for fifteen quid. Only problem they found, the steering was slack.