“That wasn’t the way it worked,” Rebus explained. “If you had a contact on the street, you kept him or her to yourself as much as you could. Otherwise one of your colleagues might try a bit of poaching. You’d arrange meetings in parks, or maybe you’d just happen to bump into them in a noisy bar, somewhere you couldn’t be overheard. They’d ask you for a light and drop a name into your ear while you got the match struck. No mobile phones in those days, so meetings could be difficult to arrange. But it had to be face to face—that way you could look them in the eye.”

“And why would you need to do that?” Fox sounded genuinely curious.

“Because usually, when they were giving you a name, there was a reason for it. Could be they just wanted to dump someone in the shit—a competitor maybe, or someone who’d crossed them.”

“So it wasn’t always just about the cash incentive?”

“There was never a lot of cash. That was the other thing—some of them did it just for the buzz it gave them. But sometimes that meant they gave you a story for the sake of it.”

“In other words, fed you a pack of lies?”

Rebus nodded.

“And who was your snitch, back in those days?”

“I didn’t really have one. I was just beginning to get the feel for who knew stuff and who didn’t, and who might be willing to pass something my way.”

“There was a reporter for the Scotsman called Albert Stout…”

“I remember him—bane of our lives.”

“He worked hard on the Merchant case—and a few more besides.”

“He hated the police.”

“I get that impression from the stories I’ve read—the slant he puts on them.”

“He can’t be still alive?”

“Eighty-seven and living next to a golf course in Gullane.”

“Bloody hell. He smoked forty a day.” Rebus paused. “You’re going to talk to him?”

“He’s on my list. As is the pathologist who did the autopsy on Douglas Merchant.”

Rebus sought his memory for the name. “Before Professor Gates?”

“His predecessor, yes—Professor Norman Cuttle, who also happens to be a spry eighty-seven.”

“You’re nothing if not thorough,” Rebus said, making sure it didn’t sound too much like a compliment. “Before or after you talk to Stefan Gilmour and the others?”

“Depends on availability. Speaking of which, we were just getting started this morning…”

“Were we?”

“Plenty more gaps I’d like you to help me fill.” Fox was producing his A4 pad from a drawer. Rebus looked at his watch.

“Do we get time-and-a-half after five o’clock?”

“You did offer your services…”

“I did, didn’t I?” Rebus acknowledged, leaning back in his chair.