“Check the boot?”

“I didn’t take anything.”

“We removed the tires and hubs,” his boss added. “Some of the electrics. The engine was pretty well shot…”

“I want it out of there,” Rebus ordered. “A scene-of-crime team will come and examine it.”

“For what?”

“Just get a hook or whatever on it and pull it back out. Throw a tarp over it and keep it safe.”

“There was a bit of a smell, you know,” Bairstow conceded. “Backseat and the boot.”

“And the boot was easy enough to open?”

“Lock was bust. Looked like someone had taken a…”

“Yes?” Rebus fixed his eyes on the man.

“A crowbar to it.” Understanding now exactly why Rebus might want the car kept.

Nick Ralph listened to the story with arms folded, lips puckered. He was seated behind his desk at Torphichen.

“It’s thin, John,” he said, after about a minute’s thought.

Rebus had walked into the station and straight up to Ralph without any preamble. The first words out of his mouth had been “Can I talk to you?”

“I’ve seen you before,” Ralph had responded, after which Rebus had introduced himself.

Now the two men were engaged in a staring contest, Ralph rocking slightly in his chair.

“Very thin,” he eventually said, breaking the silence.

Rebus just shrugged and waited.

“You’re saying this man Bell killed Redpath as retribution of sorts?”

“Yes.”

“And stored the body for a number of years in a car park? Pat McCuskey’s son finds out, so Bell goes after him?”

“That’s my thinking.”

“And you brought it to me rather than DCI Page…”

“He’s not in charge of the McCuskey inquiry, sir. And if I can be frank, without the leads I’ve just given you, you seem to be stalled.”

“Is that so?” Ralph’s shoulders stiffened. He took a deep breath, picked up his phone and ordered a scene-of-crime team to the scrap yard.

“And the multistory?” Rebus suggested. But Ralph had already put down the phone.

“One step at a time, John. We need to bring in the students and hear what they have to say.”

“They won’t have anything to say.”

“Still has to be done. And after that, we can talk to Rory Bell. If it went down the way you say it did…did Pat McCuskey smack his head while trying to get away?”

“Either that or he was in a fighting mood—they wrestled him to the floor and he connected with the fireplace.”

“Accidental death, then?”

“More like culpable homicide. Plus the initial break-in. There’ll be plenty to charge Bell with, don’t you worry.”

“If we find anything useful in the boot of the Escort.”

Rebus accepted this with a shrug.

“Well.” Ralph was rising to his feet, signaling that the meeting was over. He reached out his hand for Rebus to take. “We’ll let you know.”

“Maybe I could oversee the SOCOs.”