“That’s enough!”

Christie swiveled towards the voice. Rebus had his hands bunched by his sides, as if spoiling for a fight.

“What are you doing here?” Christie called out.

“Arresting you,” Siobhan Clarke said, stepping into the clearing and holding open her ID. Christie’s men looked to their boss for instructions. Christie pointed at Rebus.

“You’re the one who wanted this in the first place!” he complained.

Clarke ignored him, telling him he was under arrest. Christie had eyes only for Rebus, and those eyes were burning.

“Two of you against three of us?” he announced. “Look around—plenty of room for a few more graves.”

“He might be stupid,” Clarke interrupted, gesturing towards Rebus, “but I’m not. Back-up’s about five minutes away.”

“What do we do?” one of Christie’s men was asking his boss. Rebus recognized him: Marcus, doorman and driver. Christie took a moment to weigh up the options.

“We’re going,” he said. Then, turning towards Magrath: “This isn’t over. You’ll be seeing my face again.” He swung a kick, connecting with the side of Magrath’s head, before starting to march towards the Mercedes. Clarke looked to Rebus, but Rebus wasn’t moving. The two men began to follow their boss, Marcus forging ahead so he could hold open the car’s passenger door. Christie gave Rebus a final baleful look, tossed the shovel onto the ground, and got in. After the doors had closed, Clarke took a step forward.

“We’re letting them go?”

“Did you fancy our chances?” Rebus asked. He walked over to Magrath, peeling away the tape.

“They’re getting away!” Magrath spluttered, flecks of pink saliva flying from his mouth. The engine of the Mercedes had roared into life, the car reversing back the way it had come.

“Yes,” Rebus said, starting to loosen the ties around Magrath’s wrists.

“They were going to kill me.”

“We noticed.”

Magrath seemed confused. He looked from Rebus to Clarke and back again. “You’ll catch them, though? The back-up…”

“No back-up,” Rebus informed him. “That was just DI Clarke saving our skins.”

“They were going to kill me,” Magrath repeated, more to himself than anyone else.

“A word of thanks wouldn’t go amiss.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Rebus grabbed Magrath by the arm, coaxing him out of the shallow grave.

“They took my van.”

“You won’t be seeing it again.”

“They were going to—”

“So you keep saying.”

“Probably in shock,” Clarke explained.

Magrath realized he was being led from the clearing. “Where are we going?”

“We’re giving you a lift home—car’s this way.”

“But they’re this way too!”

“Best if we get a move on, then, before it dawns on them there’s no cavalry in the vicinity.”

“Wait a minute,” Magrath said. “Did you say a lift home?”

“Where else?”

Magrath stopped moving. “I can’t go home. They know where I live…where Maggie lives…”

“They might leave her alone. It’s you they’re after.”

“Then why did you let them go?”

“Know what they’ll say if questioned? They’ll say they were just giving you a fright. That’s if they say anything at all.”