“We’ve all got different ways of dealing with the shit we deal with,” Rebus offered.

“Which brings us back to the Saints,” Fox stated. “Tight little grouping like that, you start to think your own rules are the only ones that matter.”

“No argument with that.”

“And back then, parameters were different, not as strict as they are now?”

“Leeway,” Rebus agreed.

“Especially when you seemed to be getting result after result. The brass weren’t about to start questioning your methods.”

Rebus thought of Peter Meikle, the drive around Arthur’s Seat. He pursed his lips and said nothing. Fox noted this but ploughed on.

“The whole system’s changed, hasn’t it? Used to be about snitches and contacts. You lost someone like Billy Saunders, suddenly you weren’t closing cases and getting the respect of the Big House. Whatever he’d done, you had to keep him on the street.”

“You keep saying ‘you.’”

Fox held up a hand in apology. “I mean the Saints in general. But there had to be a hierarchy and I’m guessing that meant Gilmour—he was the DI after all. Was Saunders Gilmour’s man?”

“You’d need to ask one or the other.”

Fox glared at him. “You really don’t know?”

“Let’s say he was—what of it?”

Fox kept glaring. “Is there anything useful you do know?”

“Plenty.”

“Such as?”

“That’s for a later date.” Rebus picked up his glass again.

“Suppose I tell you I need to know now.”

“A later date,” Rebus echoed.

“Then maybe I should just let you slink back to Gayfield Square.”

“Maybe you should. But think about this first—you bring in each of the Saints for questioning and I’m seated there beside you. They’re going to wonder if there’s any point lying or twisting the truth.”

“Unless you’re acting as their spy all along.”

“That’s certainly a risk,” Rebus agreed with a shrug. “But the job you do, you probably think you’re good at reading people.” He made eye contact with Fox and held it. “So ask yourself if I can be trusted or not.”

“Let’s see,” Fox eventually said. “Let’s just wait and see.”

“But we start bringing them in tomorrow, yes?”

“We only question them when I’m ready,” Fox qualified.

“Fair enough,” Rebus said. Then, gesturing towards his empty glass, “Your round, by the way.”

But Fox shook his head. “Some of us have got homes,” he explained. “Meet in the Sheriff Court at ten?”

“You need to clear it with my boss.”

“James Page?” Fox checked. “I’m fairly sure he can spare you, Detective Sergeant Rebus…”

“How long have you been here?”

“Not long. I was in the neighborhood.” Clarke was standing in the doorway of Rebus’s tenement. “Just sending you a text.” She showed him her phone.

“Your flat’s miles from here,” he told her.