“But his mouth had been examined, no hint of anything on his breath. And the smell was…there had been no reaction with the other chemicals in the stomach.”

“You’re saying it was too fresh?” Rebus asked.

“As if it had just been poured from the bottle,” Cuttle replied.

“Poured from the bottle?” Rebus echoed, eyes on Fox. “Did you mention that at the time?”

Cuttle shook his head. “I was probably too busy wondering about that clamp.”

“What about it?”

“Well, the fact of the matter is, it wasn’t needed at all. It just sat there while the rest of the examination went on. No question about the cause of death—the man had sustained lethal injuries consistent with a fall of some kind. One or two anomalies weren’t going to change that.”

Rebus thought for a moment. “All the times you worked with Professor Donner…was this the only occasion something like that happened?”

Cuttle looked down at his hands. “More or less,” he eventually confided.

“More or less? And the other times were always when Summerhall CID were on hand?”

Cuttle nodded slowly.

Fox made show of clearing his throat before asking a question of his own. “Would you say that Professor Donner was on friendly terms with anyone from Summerhall in particular?”

Cuttle looked up at him. “The man is not here to defend himself.”

“So you say. But that also gives us a certain freedom to be frank with each other, doesn’t it?”

Cuttle considered this, then took a deep breath. “There were occasional invitations from DI Gilmour—to dinners, social functions, boxing bouts…”

“And were you included in these invitations, Professor?”

“I was, but I seldom said yes to them.”

“And Professor Donner?”

“He’d known Stefan Gilmour for longer.”

“And saw him as a friend, maybe?”

“Perhaps,” Cuttle conceded.

“Someone he might do a favor for now and then…?”

“I won’t speak ill of the dead,” the old man repeated.

“You knew it happened, though?”

Cuttle was shaking his head again.

“Okay,” Fox persisted. “Then let’s say you had your suspicions.”

“Professor Donner was one of this country’s most distinguished pathologists.”

“Who just happened to enjoy hanging out with CID of a night.” Fox shifted his attention to Rebus. “Did you know any of this?”

“No.”

“Is that the truth?”

Rebus’s jaw tightened. “Yes,” he said.

One of the sleepers had awoken. She leaned forward and told Cuttle how lovely it was that he had visitors.

“They’re just leaving,” the old man said.

“Your pal Stefan, eh?” Fox said as Rebus drove them back to Wester Hailes. “Splashing the cash, showing Professor Donner a good time…”

“He was the generous sort,” Rebus intoned. He was remembering back to nights at the pub—Gilmour tipping the bar staff even in the seediest dive. Same went for clubs and restaurants.

Means they remember me kindly, Gilmour would explain. And that’s good for business…