At twelve the next day, Rebus was seated at a corner table with a pint of IPA. The Oxford Bar consisted of two rooms—one containing the bar itself, and the other tables and chairs. The walls of the back room were lined with reclaimed church pews. A coal fire had been lit, and the place smelled of smoke, with undertones of bleach from the morning’s sluicing. A large window gave onto Young Street, but the natural light was only ever fitful. Rebus had taken a couple of sips from his glass. There was no one else in the back room and only Kirsty the barmaid out front, the TV news keeping her company. When the door to the outside world rattled open, Rebus allowed himself a thin smile—of course Malcolm Fox would be punctual. The man himself appeared, spotting Rebus and moving towards the table. He drew out a chair and sat down, not bothering to find out if the offer of a handshake would be rejected. Siobhan Clarke was in the doorway, pointing towards Rebus’s drink. He shook his head and she retreated to the bar, appearing again moments later with two glasses of sparkling water.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Malcolm Fox said, fussing with the positioning of his glass on the beer mat. Clarke squeezed into the same pew as Rebus, but equidistant between the two men, saying nothing. “Mind if I ask: why here?”

“There’s an old Edinburgh tradition of transacting business in pubs,” Rebus explained. “Besides which, it shows how keen you are.”

Fox looked at him. “Keen how?”

“You could have made it all official—summoning me to HQ—instead of which, here we are on my turf. Means you’re keen, bordering on desperate.”

Fox decided to let this go. “I’m here at the behest of the Solicitor General. She’s looking at reopening some old cases.”

“Now that the double jeopardy ruling’s been tweaked.”

“That’s right.”

“And she’s got Billy Saunders in her sights?”

“For starters.”

Rebus turned towards Clarke. “How much has he told you?”

“Thirty years back,” Clarke answered, “Saunders was put on trial for beating a man to death. The case collapsed. Later on, he served time for another offense and admitted to a prisoner that he’d done it. Didn’t matter, as he couldn’t be tried a second time.”

“But now he can,” Fox added.

“Then what’s Elinor Macari waiting for?” Rebus asked.

“The case against Saunders collapsed because of the actions of Summerhall CID. Evidence was tainted, interviews hadn’t been conducted properly…”

“I seem to remember our DI at the time took the bullet.”

“Stefan Gilmour, you mean? Eventually he did, yes. But there were some who said that was because he wanted to put a lid on it.”

“A lid on what?”