“I can see why you’d want to think that. Because if Gilmour was protecting someone, that puts all the Saints back in the picture…including you, John.”

Rebus stuck out a hand to grab a fistful of Fox’s coat, but the man’s reflexes were sharp. He caught the hand and pushed it away, then stood his ground, going up on his tiptoes.

“You really want to do this?” he asked. “You’re twenty years older than me and couldn’t climb the Scotsman Steps unless there was a drink at the top.”

“And you’re in peak physical condition, I suppose?”

“Not necessary, John—I just need to be that little bit fitter than you…”

Rebus took a moment to ponder this, then he managed a resigned smile. “Okay then, Action Man,” he said. “Stand down the mission…”

“You know that in my shoes you’d be considering the selfsame hypotheses.”

“I wouldn’t be in your shoes, though.”

Fox’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

Rebus glanced down at Fox’s footwear of choice. “They’re brown,” he stated. “One thing I learned from Uncle Frank…”

“No brown shoes?”

“No brown shoes,” Rebus agreed.

“And Uncle Frank is…?”

“Frank Zappa.” Rebus saw the blank look on Fox’s face. “The musician.”

“I hardly ever listen to music.”

“That’s one more strike against you, then,” Rebus stated with a slow shake of the head.

That evening, Rebus and Clarke rendezvoused at Great King Street.

“Autopsy result is in,” she told him. “No signs of a physical assault on McCuskey. He cracked his head against the corner of the stone fireplace and bleeding to the brain did the rest.”

“So is it still being treated as murder?”

She gave a shrug. “Procurator Fiscal’s office hasn’t decided yet. But whoever broke in, their defense could be that he was already unconscious when they arrived. He tripped and fell, maybe having just heard the glass breaking.”

Rebus nodded. “No marks on the body at all?”

“Nothing conclusive.” Clarke paused. “You ready?”

When he nodded, she pressed the buzzer for Jessica Traynor’s flat.

“Hello?” The voice on the intercom was Alice Bell’s.

“It’s Detective Inspector Clarke. Is Jessica there?”

“What do you want?”

“We need a word with her.”

“She’s supposed to be convalescing.”

“This’ll only take five minutes, Alice.”

A few seconds later, the buzzer sounded as the door was unlocked. Clarke pushed it open and Rebus followed her up the winding stairs.

Alice Bell stood in the open doorway of the flat. Clarke offered a smile and asked how Jessica was doing.

“All right, I suppose.”

“She’s managing the stairs?”