“The custody ledger, and the presence in the vicinity of Billy Saunders. He cuts a deal: you’ll go out of your way to see he gets off next time he’s arrested. He knew precisely what he was going to do—batter Douglas Merchant to death. And if you didn’t help him, he’d tell everyone what he knew. Wouldn’t just be you with your head on the block; it’d be Gilmour and Blantyre too, plus Professor Donner, and I’m guessing Magnus Henderson had to be in on it—hard to tamper with the ledger without the custody sergeant knowing.”

“Magnus Henderson is dead, John. Professor Donner is dead. So is Saunders, and our old friend Dod Blantyre hasn’t much longer to go. Ask yourself what any of this—any of it—is going to achieve.”

“Probably not much,” Rebus conceded. “But a man was shot dead in cold blood in the present day. Are you going to tell me that doesn’t matter?”

“It matters,” Paterson said. “Of course it matters.”

“Do you know what happened to that pistol, Porkbelly?”

Paterson considered how to answer. Another mouthful of lager gave him courage. “I always thought Stefan lifted it. It was never seen again after he left Summerhall for the last time.” He managed the most rueful of smiles. “When he started making a go of his business, I used to wonder if he maybe produced it at meetings to get the signatures on the relevant documents.”

“It’s a thought,” Rebus said.

“You’re not managing to sound convinced. You know, we kept you out of it as a way of protecting you.”

“Protecting me?”

“The less you knew, the better.”

“What about Frazer Spence—was he in on it?”

“You were still the apprentice back then, John—Frazer had served his time.”

“Meaning you didn’t trust me?”

“We didn’t know how you’d react.”

“Thanks very much.” Rebus pushed his garish drink aside. “You say Stefan had the pistol? That must mean you think he shot Billy Saunders?”

“I doubt I’m alone in that.”

“You’re not—doesn’t make it the truth, though.”

“Is it the truth that’s needed here, or just a convincing story? My bet is any one of us would do as far as your friend Fox is concerned.” Paterson paused. “That’s why we should offer him Frazer.”

“The more you and Stefan try to use Frazer, the more I realize how much of a lie the Saints were. And here’s the thing—Frazer used to send titbits Albert Stout’s way, but never once did he give the press anything on you or Stefan or the rest of us. He went to his grave with whatever dirt on you he had, and now you’re offering him up as a sacrifice.”