He poked his head around the doors of a couple of rooms before finding what he was looking for—the Summerhall boxes. They were on a desk in a small office. One of the boxes was open, and Rebus reckoned it was the one he wanted. The custody ledger sat open at the same torn page, other paperwork piled atop it. Rebus closed the door quietly, so he would have some privacy. Then he got to work.

After only a few minutes the door swung open and Malcolm Fox stood there, transfixed.

“Couldn’t keep away?” he eventually commented.

“Just something I need to check.”

“Without anyone knowing?”

Rebus stopped reading and looked up. “Siobhan says you might be okay. I’m going to see if she’s right.”

“By taking me into your confidence?”

“Slippery Phil Kennedy,” Rebus stated.

Fox’s eyes narrowed. “That name’s in the Summerhall records.”

“Vicious wee bugger we never quite managed to put away. Charged and taken to trial, but the jury couldn’t be convinced.”

“Not proven?” Fox guessed.

“Which pissed some of us off mightily.”

“Stefan Gilmour?”

Rebus nodded. “Week before Douglas Merchant was killed, Kennedy took a tumble down the stairs at home.”

“Natural causes, then?”

“Our old friend Professor Cuttle performed the autopsy.” Rebus broke off, remembering his conversation. “Or rather, he helped out. It was Professor Donner who did the slicing…” He broke off again. Something Cuttle had said? Or hadn’t said?

I was on hand for corroboration…

Fumes from his stomach had us reeling…

“I went back to see Cuttle,” Rebus admitted. “To ask him about the autopsy. I’m not sure now I got everything out of him that I could have.”

“Want a return bout? With me in the corner?”

“Fixing my cuts?” Rebus said with a smile, playing along. “You sure Siobhan can spare you?”

“She’s busy with Dean Grant.”

“That’s Deano’s real name? I never thought to ask.”

Fox raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who got him to talk?”

“I have my uses.”

“So it would seem.”

“But for what it’s worth, I don’t think he had anything to do with Billy Saunders’s vanishing act.”

“Which means we’re stuck with the double jeopardy inquiry as the main suspect.”

“And the Summerhall connection,” Rebus added. “That what you’re doing here?” He patted the paperwork on the desk. “Still looking for the elusive golden thread?”

“Cotton would do just as well,” Fox replied. “So do we go talk to Cuttle or what?”

“I suppose we could,” Rebus said.

They took Rebus’s Saab. Exiting the high-fenced car park, Rebus warned Fox that the nursing-home staff reckoned the pair of them had nearly given Cuttle pneumonia.

“Was it our idea to talk in the garden?” Fox asked.

“I think it was his. Can’t say I blame him—cooped up in that place all day and night…”