“But once you found out he was dead…?”

“Too late by then. I knew I wasn’t going back.”

“It can’t be much fun, always living in fear of being recognized.”

“That’s why you need to tell her to stop. I’m alive and I’m fine and I never want to see her or talk to her again.”

“It’d be a lot easier if you told her yourself.”

“Not for me it wouldn’t.” She slid from the stool and stood in front of him. “So will you do it?”

Rebus puffed out his cheeks. “You’re sure this is the life you want?”

“It’s what I’ve got.” She gave a shrug. “Plenty of others out there worse off than me. You should know that.”

Rebus thought for a moment, then nodded his agreement.

“Thanks,” she said, managing a sliver of a smile. Rebus tried to think what else to say, but she was already at the door. Once outside, however, she hesitated, then came back in.

“Something else you’ve got wrong—I don’t have an Uncle Alfie. Or an Uncle Anything, come to that.” She pulled open the door and left the café again, striding away with her bag slung over her shoulder, head held high, until the ranks of pedestrians swallowed her up and she was gone. Rebus took out his phone, adding her mobile number to his contacts list. She would probably change it, just as she would slip into a new identity, gifting herself a different past. He couldn’t help but see it as a waste of a life—but then the life was hers to waste. With her number safely stowed, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and ran his hands down his cheeks as he replayed the meeting.

There’s lots he liked teaching me…

I might still spill the beans…

I don’t have an Uncle Alfie. Or an Uncle Anything, come to that…

“So who the hell is Alfie?” Rebus asked himself, staring at his reflection in the window.

Part Five

Smell of blood is everywhere—
Even in stone…

54

Rebus walked into the SCRU office at Fettes HQ and saw that the packing crates had arrived. Peter Bliss and Elaine Robison were busy with labels and inventories.

“Come to give us a hand?” Robison pleaded.

“This lot going to the Crown Office?” he asked, prodding one of the boxes with his toe.

“That’s right,” Bliss said. “And it’ll all be in a damned sight better order than when it first arrived.”

“Don’t worry,” Robison added, “we’ve left one or two for you. Didn’t want you to feel you were missing out.”

“Where’s Danny Boy?”

“Another meeting with the bigwigs.”

“He’s going to get the job, isn’t he?”

“Looks like,” Bliss conceded.

“He’ll be insufferable,” Rebus commented.

“Won’t be our problem, though, will it? We’ll be reduced to daytime TV and cold callers.”

“In place of cold cases,” Robison added with a smile. “Though I might manage a wee holiday back to Australia first.” She picked up the photo of the Sydney Harbour Bridge from her desk and kissed it. Then, to Rebus: “We were thinking next Friday for a meal and a drink.”