“We’re just interested in the coincidence, Mr. Traynor,” DCI Ralph said, all calmness and reason.

“As far as I know, the only thing that links the two events is the son, but I don’t see him being questioned. Wouldn’t look good in the papers, would it? So now my photo’s going to be in them instead!”

“Just to be clear, then,” Ralph went on, ignoring the outburst, “you’ve never met Patrick and Bethany McCuskey? Never been to their house?”

“Didn’t even know where it was until I saw it on the news.”

“And you don’t blame Forbes McCuskey for what happened to Jessica?” Clarke added.

Traynor stared at her again. “Not at all,” he stated, though she could tell he was lying, his eyes shifting away from her as he spoke.

“I believe you have friends in the Met?” Nick Ralph said, leaning back a little in his chair.

“Amazing who you bump into when you play golf.” Traynor tugged at one of his shirt cuffs.

“Yet you’ve been in a bit of trouble in the past.”

“Says who?”

“There’s been a certain amount of insolvency.”

“I’ve always bounced back.”

“Unlike some of your investors.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just that you’re a man with a temper.”

“Doesn’t mean I go around walloping politicians. Besides which, I was in my hotel all morning and plenty of staff can vouch for me.” Traynor looked from one detective to the other, as if daring them to doubt him. “So you’re wasting your time, and—more importantly—mine.”

“Do you like Forbes McCuskey?” Clarke asked into the silence.

“Kid seems all right.”

“And if it were the case that he caused the crash rather than Jessica, and fled the scene without helping her…?”

“That’s not what she says happened.”

“Maybe she’s just scared what you’d do if you discovered the truth.”

Traynor glared at her, then turned his attention to Ralph. “We about done here?”

“Unless there’s anything you want to add.”

“Nothing,” Traynor stated.

Olivia Webster was summoned to lead Traynor out. Clarke and Ralph stood together in the corridor, watching him leave.

“Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him,” Nick Ralph commented. “On the other hand, I’ve seen nothing to suggest that breaking into someone’s house is his style.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Any word on the stolen property?”

“Not yet.”

An officer had appeared in one of the doorways, waving to catch Ralph’s attention. “Call from the First Minister’s office,” he explained.

“Wonderful,” Ralph muttered, stalking down the hall.

12

12

Footage from the police station was playing on the TV news channel in Rebus and Fox’s café of choice. They were in the Glasgow suburbs, and thankful for the satnav on Fox’s phone.