“Pulled from the canal?”

“A quiet stretch near Dumbryden—not far from Wester Hailes police station.”

Fox was giving the news to the Solicitor General. He kept his eyes on Rebus, ready to pass on any wisdom.

“Near Dumbryden,” Rebus dutifully repeated.

“And there’s another thing, John…”

“Did he jump, fall, or was he maybe pushed?” Rebus interrupted her.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Word is he’d been shot.”

“Shot?”

“Shot,” Fox said into his phone, eyes widening a little further.

“Shot,” Siobhan Clarke confirmed.

It had been decided to base the investigation at Wester Hailes. With the Pat McCuskey case in the process of being downgraded, officers were being moved from that team to the new one. By the time Rebus and Fox arrived at the canal, Clarke had been put in charge of the inquiry. DC Olivia Webster was with her, Clarke making the introductions from beneath a large black umbrella. Droplets of rain were dripping into Rebus’s eyes from his hair. Crime-scene tape had been strung across the canal path, onlookers gathering on the opposite bank. There wasn’t much in the vicinity other than an industrial estate and some wasteland. Ducks were sheltering between the thick reeds, heads tucked under their wings.

“Grim,” Rebus stated, taking in everything.

The canal was cleaner these days than in times past, but litter still floated on its oily surface, and nearby walls had become a sprawling canvas for the neighborhood taggers.

“Any CCTV?” Fox asked.

“On the industrial estate,” Clarke told him. “We’ll be taking a look.”

“What was he doing here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“There can’t be many guns in the city.”

“One more than we thought,” Clarke commented.

“What I mean is, where did it come from? Someone must know.”

She nodded. Miserable-looking uniformed officers were combing the ground in all directions. They wore waterproofs, and Rebus thought he recognized one or two from the perimeter search of Pat McCuskey’s homestead.

“The diver’s going to have fun,” he said to Clarke. “Hope his shots are up to date.”

“Not the best turn of phrase, under the circumstances.”

“You think the gun’s in there?” Rebus gestured towards the canal.

“Maybe.”

“How many bullets?”

“Just the one. Close range, middle of the chest.”

Rebus examined the path beneath their feet. “Bloodstains?”

“Not found any yet.”

“So the impact probably propelled him into the water. Any casings?”

“Christ, John, we’ve only just got started.” Clarke’s voice was brittle.

“Room for any more on the team?” he asked. “Malcolm and me know as much about Saunders as anyone…”

“We already have a job,” Fox reminded him.

“You don’t think the two just became one?”

“We’d have to clear it with the Solicitor General.”

“Don’t bother,” Clarke broke in. “Neither one of you is coming on board.”