“Stefan.” Rebus examined his old boss. The man was in his early seventies, but looked at least a decade younger. He wore a black T-shirt under a tailored jacket, with rust-colored cords and brown loafers. What hair he could boast had been engineered to cover as much of his scalp as possible. Piercing blue eyes and a healthy glow to his cheeks.

“You staying in town?” Paterson asked him. Gilmour shook his head.

“My driver will take me back.”

“Driver, eh?” Paterson gestured towards Rebus. “I’ve got one of those tonight too.” Then he headed to Dod Blantyre’s corner of the room, squeezing a shoulder in greeting.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up.” One whole side of Blantyre’s face hung lower than the other, making his words slightly slurred.

“You’re fine, Dod,” Paterson told him. Blantyre nodded and turned his attention to Rebus.

“And here’s the prodigal,” he said. “I reckoned the drink had got you, or you’d moved to Spain.”

“Just working hard,” Rebus replied with a shrug of apology.

“Well, you’re here now. Maggie, are we going to let the man die of thirst?”

There was a drinks cabinet open. Maggie already seemed to know that Paterson would want a Highland Park.

“Same for you, John?” she asked.

“I better have one of those.” Rebus nodded towards the glass of orange by Blantyre’s side.

“With or without the three measures of vodka?”

“Without.”

“Dod knows he shouldn’t really be drinking.” She began pouring juice from the liter-sized carton.

“Doctors try to drain all the fun out of life,” Blantyre complained. Again Rebus had to strain to pick out his old colleague’s words.

“Sit yourselves down,” Maggie demanded, handing over the glasses. There was just about enough room on the sofa for the three visitors, Maggie settling herself on the spare armchair. “Here’s to us,” she said, toasting the room at large. Then, realizing her error, she got up again and went over to her husband’s side, lifting his tumbler and helping him hold it while he drank through a straw. When a dribble settled on his chin, she brushed it off with the back of one ringed finger.

“Nice of you all to come,” she said, sitting down again. “Isn’t it, Dod?”

“Aye,” he acknowledged. “The Saints of the Shadow Bible…”

“Been a while since I heard those words,” Stefan Gilmour said with a smile.

“That’s because you move in different circles these days,” Paterson reminded him. “Footballers and film stars…”

“Not as many as you might think.”

“Still got that hotel going up in Dubai, though?”