“Best talk to her quick, then—in person rather than on the phone.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing Edinburgh again.”

“It’s been pining for you, believe me. It’s crying on my shoulder as I speak.” Rebus arched his face towards the rain. It was only a shower, the sky to the west brightening already.

“So what are you up to today?” she asked him.

“Clearing my desk in your office, quickly followed by the desk in my office.”

“And that’s it?”

“Game over, especially if the Complaints have their way.”

“You’ve done so much on this case, John. Someone needs to tell them that.”

“I’m sure my fan club’s queuing up with testimonials.” He paused. “So you’ll talk to Dempsey?”

“She’s bound to ask me how I know.”

“‘Information received.’”

“She won’t like that.”

“Not much she can do about it—you’re coming home soon. I’ve ordered balloons and everything.”

“Come to think of it, I’ve got to brief her anyway—serial killers and their disposal sites.”

“Did you dig up anything from the trusty internet?”

“Only that there’s usually a reason—the most basic being that it’s in the vicinity of where they live. Or, to put it another way, their ‘spatial behavior’ is ‘empirically modeled.’”

“I preferred your first answer.”

“Thought you might.”

When they’d finished speaking, he headed upstairs. The office felt a bit like limbo. With Page and Clarke absent, and the case hijacked by Dempsey and her team, no one really had anything to do. Plenty of hard work; no real sense of achievement.

“Glad to see you so idle,” Rebus said, “because I need a hand shifting all these boxes…”

In the end, Esson and Ogilvie helped take everything down to the Saab. Esson asked if the files were heading to Inverness. He told her he didn’t know, and she suggested they be kept at Gayfield Square, just in case.

“If I’m not staying here, neither are they,” Rebus explained to her.

Afterward, they celebrated with mugs of tea (and hot water) and the remnants of a packet of Bourbons.

“No new marvels to report from that computer of yours?” Rebus asked Esson.

She shook her head, taking tiny nibbles of her biscuit while Ogilvie dunked his in his tea before sucking the life from it.

“Best put your feet up while you can, then,” Rebus went on. “Looks like Page might be back here by day’s end.”

“And you’re headed back to Fettes?” Ogilvie asked.

“Not for long—SCRU’s been earmarked for closure.”

“So what’ll you do?” The question had come from Esson. Rebus made show of shrugging his shoulders.

“Carpet bowls maybe; Antiques Roadshow reruns…”

When she grinned, it made her look younger than ever.

“Been good working with the pair of you, though,” Rebus conceded, taking a last look around the office and gracing everyone with a wave as he made his exit. At the top of the stairs, he stopped and watched Dave Ormiston climb towards him, reading from a sheaf of papers. Ormiston spotted him and managed a thin smile.