DCI Ralph was clapping his hands, calling out for everyone to stop what they were doing. All eyes turned towards him. Officers filed in from the corridor and the other rooms off. Clarke found herself with her back pressed against the whiteboard, unable to see anything except the very top of Nick Ralph’s head. Around her, phones were pinging and vibrating.

“Maybe we could have those off,” Ralph ordered.

She slid her own from her pocket. She had a message from Malcolm Fox, but she could read it later. For now, she powered down the phone and concentrated on the job at hand.

“Let’s begin,” Nick Ralph said.

Early evening, Rebus left his tenement flat and headed for a shop on Marchmont Road where he could buy cigarettes and bacon. He was almost at the top of Arden Street when he spotted Forbes McCuskey on the other side of the road. McCuskey had recognized him. He stood there for a moment, then strode towards Rebus.

“You following me? Stalking me?”

“Just passing,” Rebus said, reluctant to let him know they lived on the same street.

“I could call this harassment.”

“It’s not. Sorry to hear about your dad, by the way.”

The young man’s anger abated a little, good manners taking over. “Thanks,” he said.

“We’ll be doing everything we can to find his attacker.”

Forbes McCuskey nodded distractedly. Now that he had confronted the detective, he seemed not to know what to do next.

“Including interviewing Jessica’s father,” Rebus continued matter-of-factly.

“What for?”

“Because his daughter had just been in a car smash and he wasn’t convinced it was her fault. Because, historically, he has a temper on him.”

“So he attacks my father in revenge?”

“Only when he fails to find you at home.”

McCuskey started to shake his head, but then stopped. “Well,” he said, “I suppose you have to explore all the avenues…”

“You can be sure we’ll do that.” Rebus gestured towards McCuskey’s building. “I’d have thought your mum might be needing you.”

“Aunt Dorothy’s with her. I’m just collecting some of my stuff.”

“Your mum’s okay, being in the house…?”

“I did suggest a hotel.”

“Not the Caledonian?” Rebus cautioned.

McCuskey nodded his understanding. “Jessica’s there…”

“Next door to her father. Have you been to see her?”

McCuskey shook his head.

“She’ll have been in touch, though, having heard…?”

“I’ve talked to her, yes.” McCuskey’s eyes locked on Rebus. “Were you really just passing?”

“I live down the road,” Rebus admitted, seeing no harm in it. “On my way to Margiotta’s. I’m at number seventeen, second floor—if you ever want to talk.”

“Talk? What about?”

“Maybe why you lied to us.”

“Did I lie?”

“You said you couldn’t drive, yet I saw you behind the wheel, with your mum in the passenger seat.”