“Maybe leave it till morning,” Fox advised. “Give yourself time to reflect.”

“Always erring on the side of caution, eh? Never doing anything in the heat of the moment?”

“Goes with the job,” he said with a shrug.

After a moment, Clarke put her phone down again and lifted her drink. She took a couple of sips, before asking him how things were going with Rebus.

“Hard to say.”

“Because you can’t tell me, or because you don’t know?”

“More the latter than the former. I’m just not sure where I stand with him. There’s so much happening behind his eyes…”

“I know that feeling.” Clarke hoisted her glass again. “He’s like one of those chess wizards, the ones who play a dozen boards at the same time.”

“Not a bad analogy,” Fox agreed with a smile. “And if he looks like losing even one of those games…”

“Time to duck before the pieces go flying.”

Now they were both smiling, and the cold didn’t seem as bad as all that.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Clarke said into the silence. “About the mystery message, I mean. What’s the next step?”

“It goes to the bottom of a rather crowded in-tray. Might be it never comes up for air. With reorganization, a lot of paperwork could end up in the vaults.”

“Is that ethical?”

“You think a bit of Rebus has rubbed off on me already?”

“He can have that effect.” Clarke noticed her glass was empty. “Another?” she asked.

“I’ve not started this one yet. But look…and don’t take this the wrong way or anything…”

“Go on,” she prompted.

“I was wondering if you’d eaten—because I haven’t and I’m starving.”

“Broughton Street’s got everything you need,” Clarke said. “And to tell you the truth, a curry might just hit the spot…”

Day Six

Day Six

11

11

Next morning, Rebus dropped into Gayfield Square. There was no point arriving at the Sheriff Court before Fox and finding a locked door. DCs Esson and Ogilvie had a pot of coffee on the go, and—as a bonus—there was no sign of James Page.

“He’s in the huff,” Esson explained.

“Because Nick Ralph got given the sweeties?” Rebus guessed.

“Plus he can’t even take it out on you, since the Solicitor General stole you from us.”

“I almost feel sorry for the man.” Rebus took a slurp of coffee, then made a face.

“Ronnie bought it,” Esson explained. Rebus looked to Ronnie Ogilvie.

“I didn’t see ‘decaf’ on the packet.”

“Or the words ‘cheap and nasty,’” Rebus added. “That’s some hattrick, son.” Rebus’s mobile phone alerted him to a call. He saw Ogilvie and Esson exchange a look.

“That ringtone’s BB King, by the way,” he informed them. “So don’t even start.” Then, into the phone itself: “Good morning, Inspector Fox—what can I do for you?”