“I’m not sure. Do you?”

“Any evidence to disprove it?”

Fox studied him. “You know there isn’t. But she’ll still go to prison. Best lawyer in the land couldn’t prevent that.”

“She’ll have the best, too.”

“Oh?”

“I spoke to Stefan Gilmour last night when I got home—he’ll make sure of it.”

“How much did you know?”

“I knew Phil Kennedy died in custody and it was covered up.”

“From what little George Blantyre has been saying, he’s keen to shoulder the blame.”

“Is that right?”

“Says he pushed Kennedy off his chair. Thought he was unconscious but then noticed he wasn’t breathing, so he took the body back to Kennedy’s place and made it look like he’d fallen over while drunk.”

“He acted alone?”

“That’s his story. The man’s not long for this world, so what has he got to lose?” Fox paused. “Looks like Stefan Gilmour and Eamonn Paterson can breathe easy, even though we know that’s not the way it was.”

“Will anyone bother charging Dod?”

“I get the feeling the inquiry will drag its heels, let nature take its course.”

“What a mess. Have you taken the news to the Solicitor General yet?”

“I’m trying to decide what to tell her.”

“That’s easy, isn’t it? You tell her what you know.”

“Which isn’t half as much as I suspect.”

“She won’t thank you for anything that can’t be proven.”

Fox nodded as if in agreement, then studied their surroundings. “Lot of roundabouts. I’m impressed you’re not resorting to satnav.”

“We’re nearly there.”

They arrived at the barrier of the multistory. Rebus reached out and plucked the ticket from the machine. Passing the security cabin, he saw that his attacker wasn’t on duty. Another uniform had taken his place—skinnier and older.

“Might not need you after all,” Rebus commented, taking the ramp to the next floor. When they reached the third, he pulled into a bay and started swearing.

“What is it?” Fox asked.

“They’ve moved the cars.”

Fox looked out at the vast, empty concrete space. “What cars?”

“Exactly. When I was here yesterday, there were two cars, dusty and abandoned. There’d been a third, but that was already gone. Jack Redpath’s body was in the boot. They dumped him in the docks and left the car to be towed and scrapped.”

“Okay.” Fox was frowning, concentrating hard as he tried to catch up.

“But there were two other cars still here, one of them under a dust sheet.” Rebus got out and walked to the empty bays, Fox following suit. “See? Yesterday there was a lot of leaves and stour. The cars had been here for months, maybe even years…What are you smiling at?”

“It’s such a great old word, ‘stour’—my dad uses it.”

“They’ve swept it all away, every last trace.”