“Why not? Back then we were capable of just about anything—might still be true today.” Rebus held Gilmour’s stare. “We were bad cops, Stefan. That’s the truth of it. And out of all of us, I’d say you’ve got most to lose.”

“Maybe so, but I didn’t do it. What if I were to tell you Frazer Spence took that gun home?”

“I’d think you were lying. The one Saint who’s not in the frame for this is Frazer.”

“I doubt Dod Blantyre could have made it to the canal under his own steam.”

“Which leaves me, you and Porkbelly—and I know it wasn’t me.”

“What if it wasn’t any of us? Saunders had served time, knew more than a few nutcases. There could be any number of people out there with a grudge. You’re assuming it’s the same gun, but I’m not hearing any proof.”

“The time you phoned him, did you try a bribe?”

“Didn’t think it would work. I mean, he’d have taken the cash but then come back for more.”

“In other words, you’d never have been free of him?”

“Right.”

“An admission that doesn’t really help your case.” Rebus paused. “What is it he had, Stefan? What could he tell Macari and her team? I’ve been through the custody ledger and there’s half a page missing from the week before Saunders killed Merchant. It got me thinking—could there be something Saunders knew? He comes to you, tells you he’ll do a deal—forget all about it if you get him off next time he’s arrested. You couldn’t know he was going to bludgeon some poor sod to death, so you shook hands on it.”

“The hearse is arriving,” Gilmour said, nodding in the direction of the gates. A slow-moving procession of vehicles, the engines almost silent. Wreaths shrouding the coffin, allowing only glimpses of gleaming brass handles, varnished pale wood. In the car behind, the Justice Minister’s widow and son. The First Minister and his deputy had reemerged from the chapel and were flanking the door, hands clasped as if in prayer, heads bowed.

“Nothing to say, Stefan?” Rebus whispered into his neighbor’s ear. Gilmour’s jaw was jutting as he watched the vehicles pull to a halt. The First Minister offered his condolences to the widow, along with a peck on the cheek. She was dressed in black, and wore sunglasses which obscured half her face.

“Only that you’re making a mistake, John. Sounds very much as if you’ve decided you’re not part of the Saints anymore.”

“Let me tell you something, Stefan. I spoke to Porkbelly and he was all for letting Frazer take the rap for that gun, same as you just did. Seems to me you’ll shit on anyone to save your own necks.”