He got to his feet and exited the café. “Siobhan?” he said by way of greeting.

“Pat McCuskey just died,” she said, no emotion in her voice.

“Shite.”

“It’s now a murder inquiry. A team’s being assembled at Torphichen.” Meaning the C Division HQ on Torphichen Place. Made sense: nearest manned station to the crime scene. Come reorganization, there’d be something called the Specialist Crime Division to investigate serious cases, but not yet.

“I can be there in five minutes,” Rebus said.

“Your name’s not been mentioned, John. I don’t mean to say you won’t be needed in future…”

“But you’re in?”

“At the moment, yes.”

“And Page?”

“No, not Page—and not Esson or Ogilvie either. Seems they only need an extra DI right now.”

Rebus had taken the opportunity to get a cigarette lit. Through the window he could see his toastie being delivered. He indicated for it to be left there.

“How sure can we be that it’s murder?”

“I agree—he could have fallen, smashed his head. Might have a better idea after the autopsy.”

“On the other hand, calling it murder might stir things up a bit—put a bit of pressure on whoever did it. Small-timers, maybe not expecting to find anyone home…”

“Have you managed to get the word out around town?”

“As best I can.” Rebus paused. “Media’s going to be all over this.”

“Not to mention McCuskey’s colleagues. Speaking of which, his private secretary did switch off the TV—you were right about that.”

“Anything sensitive on the laptop?”

“It’s password-protected.”

“Not exactly Fort Knox, then.”

“Thing is, the Yes campaign isn’t quite the same thing as the current government.”

“So there could be stuff his office doesn’t know about?”

“We’re checking.” Clarke paused. “I’m guessing it makes the son untouchable.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I still think it’s odd this should happen so soon after the crash.”

“Lifting just enough in the way of valuables to make it look like a robbery?”

“Something like that.”

“You think I should take it to DCI Ralph?”

“Nick Ralph’s in charge at Torphichen?”

“His is the name I’m hearing.”

“Good rep. And if he’s asked for you, that consolidates it.”

“Shucks.”

“On the other hand, giving me a body-swerve has to count against him.”

Inside the café, Maggie Blantyre seemed to be fretting that his lunch was getting cold. Rebus nodded for her benefit, took a final drag on the cigarette and flicked its remains into the gutter. “Got to go,” he told Clarke.

“If you do hear anything about the stuff that got lifted…”

“I’ll give it to you so you can get your gold star from teacher.”

“You better had, or it’ll be a Chinese burn next time I see you in the playground.”

Rebus ended the call and went back indoors.