“I won’t.” Clarke ended the call and compared the dish on the TV screen with the food on her plate. “No contest,” she said, scooping up another forkful.

Day Eight

Day Eight

14

14

Something Professor Cuttle had said—we were so busy…lowlifes dropping dead or succumbing to injuries—took Rebus to the Summerhall files the following morning. Malcolm Fox had been summoned to a meeting with Elinor Macari elsewhere in the building. It was raining outside, the sky black. Rebus had hung his coat up to dry and slipped his shoes off, balancing them on a radiator. He padded across the office in his damp socks, opening box files and ledgers, seeking out anything from the days and weeks leading up to Douglas Merchant’s murder.

“Not interrupting, am I?” Fox said on his return. He was carrying two cardboard beakers of tea. “Do you take sugar? I can’t remember.” He dug some sachets from his jacket pocket.

“Thanks,” Rebus said, prizing the lid from the proffered beaker. “Macari’s coffee machine on the blink?”

“I just prefer tea.” Fox took a sip, wincing at the scalding temperature.

“You left the door open.”

“Maybe I just forgot to lock it.”

“Or it could be that you’re starting to trust me?”

Fox blew across the surface of his drink. “Here’s the thing, John—you wanted back on the force at any cost. They told you you’d be bumped down the ranks and you said okay. It’s not about status with you; it’s about the job itself. Am I right?”

“More or less. So you are beginning to trust me?”

“Trust works both ways.” Fox gestured towards the paperwork in front of Rebus. “So tell me what’s keeping you busy.”

“Working on a timeline,” Rebus explained, hoping he could keep things nice and vague. “What did the Solicitor General want?”

“Billy Saunders is still missing. His phone hasn’t been used, but two hundred pounds was taken from a cash machine with his card.”

“When?”

“Night he disappeared. From a Bank of Scotland in Newington.”

“So he’s either alive and running, or…”

“Someone took his card and made him hand over the PIN.”

“Does Macari have a preference?”

Fox’s mouth twitched. “She wants Stefan Gilmour formally questioned.”

“Because he had words with Saunders?” Rebus watched Fox nod. “So do we bring him in?”

“It’ll just be me, John, plus one of the fiscals. You’re too close to Gilmour.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You know I’m right, though.” He paused, his attention shifting to the box files. “Remind me why we need a timeline…”

“I thought you asked for one.”

“Did I?” Fox’s brow furrowed.

“I reckoned maybe you wanted me kept busy,” Rebus lied blithely.

“Fine then,” Fox said eventually. He noticed that Rebus was in socks, and looked towards the radiator. “At least brown shoes keep out the water,” he commented.