“Porkbelly gave him a bit of a doing. One punch sent Kennedy flying over the back of his chair. Smacked his head and…We thought he was unconscious at first, but you can tell, can’t you?”

“You couldn’t have him being found like that?”

“Bruised and bloody? Stuck in a cell without good reason? No, we had to get him out of there.”

“You took him back to his house and left him at the foot of the stairs,” Rebus stated.

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Then made sure the autopsy report mentioned plenty of alcohol in his system. You and Dod in attendance with Professor Donner.”

“Best to keep Porkbelly out of it. Poor guy was in shock.”

“How come I don’t remember?”

“We didn’t know you well enough to let you in on it.”

“Donner played along, though.”

“Randy old goat—married man, but he did like the occasional call girl.”

“Arranged by you?”

“All part of the service.” Gilmour took a deep breath and rose to his feet.

“Hang on,” Rebus said. “How did Billy Saunders find out?”

“Come on, John—it’s not rocket science.”

Even so, it still took Rebus a minute. “He was in one of the cells?” he eventually offered. “Heard or saw what happened? Another reason that page had to go from the custody ledger…”

Gilmour made show of clapping his hands before sliding them back into the pockets of his coat.

“So who shot Saunders?”

“Not a clue,” Gilmour said. “Kind of depends on whether it really is the same gun, doesn’t it?” He turned to leave.

“You should take this to Clarke,” Rebus advised. “It’s the only way to clear your name.”

“I don’t need to clear my name, John—it’s enough for me that I know I had nothing to do with it. And I’m a Saint, remember—defender of the faith and all that.”

“To the death?”

“Maybe not quite that far.”

“You’ve got plenty of money, Stefan. You could fly off anytime you like.”

“Somewhere with no extradition treaty?” Gilmour gave a thoughtful smile. “Like some old-time crook, always looking over his shoulder? Not my style, John. Besides, I’ve a fight on my hands, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“The No campaign? Is that what your meetings were about?” Gilmour nodded slowly. “I trust we can rely on your vote?” “I wouldn’t rely on anything if I were you, Stefan.”

Gilmour’s gaze hardened. “Pity,” he said, making his way out of the room. Rebus followed him to the front door.

“Any word on the McCuskey case?” Gilmour was asking.

“Stalled.”

“So Owen Traynor’s involvement is at an end?”

“As far as I know.”

“Probably a good thing. I hear his latest venture has gone tits-up, creditors and HMRC on the warpath. The guy’s combustible, John…”