“It would explain the need to doctor evidence, and maybe feelings of guilt meant no one wanted an innocent man to go to prison for the crime…”

Fox snatched the report from Cuttle’s hands. “Why is none of that thinking in here?”

“Because,” Cuttle replied calmly, “I wasn’t the one who wrote it up.”

“But you spoke to Professor Donner? You told him you had reservations?”

“I may have done.”

“And he chose to ignore them?”

Cuttle offered another shrug. “We were so busy during that period: a lot of lowlifes dropping dead or succumbing to injuries; not enough staff to assist in the mortuary—I can’t recall now if industrial action or sickness was to blame. The mortuary had to close soon after, you know? They found asbestos in the walls…” His eyes lost focus for a moment. Then he blinked and looked up at Rebus. “Is Professor Gates still alive, do you know?”

Rebus shook his head. “I think I saw you at his funeral—quite a few years back now.”

“I don’t remember. It’s funny, usually I’m fine with the far past—just don’t quiz me on what I had for dinner yesterday.”

“I need to ask you rather an awkward question, Professor,” Fox said, pressing the palms of his hands together. “Did anyone at Summerhall try to pressure you in any way?”

“Pressure?”

“Ask you to change anything in the report, or try your best in the witness box to help the defense rather than the prosecution?”

“Nothing like that.” Cuttle shook his head defiantly. “Never anything like that.”

Fox pressed the point, but Cuttle kept shaking his head, so that Rebus feared the man might do himself an injury.

“Is everything all right?” Another staff member had come into the garden. The sun wasn’t far off setting, the daylight fading. “Might be an idea to come back indoors, eh?”

“Yes,” the professor said, as Fox and the aide helped him to his feet. “I’m beginning to feel it now in my bones.”

“Nice cup of tea when we get you in. Pointless will be on the TV soon—you like that one, don’t you?”

“Do I?”

“Well, let’s find out…”

Rebus and Fox lingered by the bench.

“Got enough?” Rebus asked.

Fox was stuffing the report back into his case. “You heard what the man said—might not even have been Saunders.”

“You can’t be serious?”

Fox turned to face him. “We’ve been looking for a reason why Gilmour would work so hard on a snitch’s behalf. This theory’s as good as any I’ve heard.”

“Why would Gilmour kill Merchant? Why would anyone other than Billy Saunders kill Merchant?”

“You’re right—might not be Stefan Gilmour. Might have been someone close to Stefan Gilmour.”

Rebus rolled his eyes. “You know how stupid you sound right now?”