There were fewer reporters outside Wester Hailes police station. They were huddled in their cars, cupping hot drinks to their faces. No vans, no TV cameras. When Rebus walked into the building, the first person he saw was Alice Bell. She was seated by the reception desk, looking furious with the world. Recognizing him, she leapt to her feet.

“I know,” he said, trying for a pacifying gesture with the palms of both hands. “And I’m really sorry. But our job is to find out why Pat McCuskey died, and that means piecing together a jigsaw of his personal life. Like it or not, you’re one of the pieces.”

“She attacked me,” Bell complained.

“I know she did—are you all right?”

He could tell that she’d lost a clump of hair from her scalp, and there were grazes and scratches to her face and neck.

“I’ve been getting dogs’ abuse—your lot want to know if I’ll press charges.”

“And will you?”

He watched her shake her head. Then he realized something. “What are you doing here, though?”

“Waiting for DCI Ralph. He’s in some meeting or other.”

“You’ll be all right, Alice. Just tell them the truth—how often you met with McCuskey, that sort of thing. Whether he seemed worried about anything.”

“Pillow talk, you mean?”

“Is there anyone I can call? Your mum or dad?”

“They’re both dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Anyone else who could come sit with you?”

“Jessica and Forbes are hardly likely to oblige, are they?” she complained.

Rebus made show of wincing. “Have you talked to them?”

She shook her head. “What’s to say?”

“Any family at all I could phone for you?”

“I’ll be fine.” She paused, her voice hardening. “You’ve already done more than enough damage, don’t you think?”

DCI Nick Ralph appeared through a doorway. He nodded a greeting in Rebus’s direction, then apologized to Alice Bell for the wait, leading her towards a corridor.

“There’s a way out to the car park,” he was explaining. “Means we don’t end up feeding the jackals.”

“What’s left of me for them to pick at?” the young woman asked, giving a final bitter glance over her shoulder towards Rebus.

He watched the pair of them leave, then headed for the Major Incident suite. Fox was behind one of the desks.

“You just missed your pal,” he informed Rebus.

“Not quite—I bumped into her downstairs.”

But Fox was shaking his head. “I mean Eamonn Paterson. We’ve just had him in the interview room. He left not twenty minutes ago.”

“Then I’m thankful for small mercies.” Rebus slumped onto the spare chair.

“You saw Alice Bell, then?”

Rebus nodded. “She was thrilled I’d grassed her up.”

“She should have come forward,” Fox stated. “Might have saved all this grief.”

“What was Ralph playing at, telling the widow?”