“Sorry about that,” he said. But Maggie was on her feet, shrugging her arms back into the sleeves of her coat.

“I need to be getting back,” she explained. “I’ve left money for my tea.”

Rebus spotted the neat pile of coins next to her saucer.

“But we’d hardly got talking,” he complained.

“Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea.” She smiled at him and touched his tie with the tips of her fingers. “But I’m sure Dod would like to see you, if you ever felt like visiting.”

“Maggie…”

“Sit down and eat.” She patted him on the chest and was gone.

Rebus stood there for a moment, wondering whether he was expected to follow, maybe be that bit more demonstrative. But his stomach was growling and he had to be at the Sheriff Court by three. The waitress was asking if everything was all right.

“Hunky-dory,” Rebus told her, settling himself back down at the table. There was lipstick on Maggie’s cup, and she had left enough money to pay the bill in full.

“Terrible news,” Eamonn Paterson said.

“Terrible,” Malcolm Fox agreed.

The three men were in the office at the Sheriff Court. Fox had set up a tape recorder but no video. Rebus noticed that no effort had been made to tidy away all the paperwork—quite the reverse, in fact. Fox had ensured the place looked good and messy, as if industry happened here, as if paperwork had been pored over time and again, evidence amassed. He had his A4 pad out—or maybe it was a different one. Reams of writing within, some sections capitalized or underlined. No doodles, not a thought wasted. Precision and diligence.

All of it to impress a man who knew tricks when he saw them. Paterson had even offered a wink towards Rebus as Fox fiddled with the cassette deck. If games were to be played, Paterson would prove a worthy competitor.

“Good to see the old technology still in use.” Paterson gestured towards the tape recorder.

“Only when it’s fit for purpose.” Fox looked up. “I forgot to ask about tea or coffee—DS Rebus can nip out and get us something…?”

“I’m fine,” Paterson said, giving Rebus another surreptitious wink. Fox had been letting them know where they stood. Rebus was the hired help here, Fox the master of the house.

“Shall we get started, then?”

“Ready when you are.” Paterson clasped his hands across his chest, Fox started the machine, and the interview began with a few moments of staring before Fox lobbed his first question.

“Was the crossbow your idea?”

“Crossbow?”

“Didn’t Summerhall have its own crossbow? Used for games of darts until the dartboard shattered?”

Paterson smiled at the memory. “I don’t remember whose idea that was.”