“Maybe you think you’re clean, but you’re not,” Gilmour retorted. “You knew we hung on to that gun—why didn’t you take it to the bosses at the time? Remember Interview Room B, that time I walked in and you had your hands around a suspect’s throat? I forget the name now, but it’ll come back to me if necessary. The drugs we planted on that barman we didn’t like? The prossies we let off after an hour in the holding cell, once they’d slipped us a few quid or a promise? The restaurant tabs that never arrived at the end of a meal? Two hundred cigarettes here, a case of malt there…The stories we could tell, eh?”

Gilmour’s eyes were boring into Rebus’s.

“I took the fall, John,” he went on. “And I did it for all of us. Remember that, when you’ve got the tin-opener poised above the can marked ‘worms.’”

He started walking towards the chapel, maneuvering his way delicately but determinedly through the throng. Finding himself in front of Forbes McCuskey, he shook the young man’s hand and said a few words. McCuskey turned his head and seemed to recognize Rebus. But by then Gilmour was working the crowd, knowing which flesh deserved to be pressed. A pat on the shoulder from the First Minister, even though they were adversaries. A slight bow of the head from the Lord Provost. A warm smile from the outgoing Chief Constable. And then everyone was heading indoors, organ music beginning to emerge from the PA. Rebus backed away towards the memorial garden and lit a cigarette. He spotted a pair of crutches amongst the mourners. Jessica Traynor was making for the chapel, with the help of Alice Bell. Neither of them noticed Rebus, but when they reached Forbes McCuskey, Jessica burst into tears, resting her head on his shoulder. Her boyfriend ran a hand through her hair, and seemed to mouth a few words, words very like “Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry.

And with his eyes focused not on Jessica Traynor but Alice Bell.

Rebus arrived at Wester Hailes police station to find that they’d just brought in Deano. He was being taken from reception to the interview room.

“Thanks for nothing,” he spat, seeing Rebus.

“Just say your piece and don’t worry about anything,” Rebus advised.

He showed his ID to the desk and asked for directions to the Major Incident Team.

“Whole station’s the Major Incident Team,” came the terse reply.