“So how’s Dod doing?”

“Same old.” She paused. “It was fun seeing you at the house.”

“Nice to catch up—just a shame about the circumstances.”

“That man Fox has been on the phone, asking if Dod would be up for answering a few questions. Dod tells me you’ll know about that.”

“Sort of.”

“And if he really doesn’t want to talk…?”

“I suppose his doctor could write him a note.”

“That’s what I thought.” Another pause. “It’s not that he has anything to hide. It’s just that he’s not up to it.”

“Understood.”

“But will Fox see it that way?”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Dod doesn’t want to go to his grave with a black mark against his whole career. Surely you can see that?”

“Of course.”

She seemed to relax a little, as though relieved he was now sharing her burden. “Maybe we could meet for a coffee after Silverknowes—it would be lovely to see you.”

“At the house, you mean?”

“There’s a café on Roseburn Terrace. I sometimes take an hour out and sit there. Dod seems to manage without me…”

“Do they do food?” Rebus inquired.

“Just sandwiches and baked potatoes.”

“Then I’ll see you there at half-one.”

“Always supposing you can bear to leave Silverknowes.”

“Always supposing,” Rebus echoed with a smile.

He was five minutes early, but she was already there, seated at a table by the window, the window itself opaque with condensation.

“John,” she said in greeting, rising and pecking him on the cheek. Then the familiar touch of her thumb as she brushed away the lipstick. “I ordered a pot of tea—is that okay?”

“Fine.”

She didn’t want anything to eat, but Rebus ordered a toasted ham sandwich. When he turned from the waitress, Maggie Blantyre was studying him intently.

“Have you left a mark on me?” he asked, rubbing at his left cheek.

“I was just thinking back. You were a lovely lot—a real gang of friends.”

“The job does that to you.”

“And a lot more besides.”

“Despite which, here I am.”

“Here you are,” she said, lifting her teacup. But then her smile faltered. “There are times I wonder…”

“What?”

“How things might have turned out—if we’d been a little braver.”

“You and me, you mean? At the time, I seem to remember we thought we’d taken leave of our senses.”

“But thinking back…”

“The past’s a dangerous place, Maggie.”

“I know it is—look at what this man Fox is trying to do.”

“It’s not Fox, it’s the Solicitor General—she wants to retry Billy Saunders, and for that to happen she needs to know nothing’s going to bite her arse in the courtroom.”

“You paint a lovely picture.”

Rebus’s phone was buzzing. “I need to take this,” he apologized, seeing Clarke’s name on the screen.

“Of course.”