“I mean it,” Fox had said, eyes drilling into Rebus’s. “I want you back on the force. You’ll screw up sooner rather than later and that’s when we’ll get to know one another better. I just pray you don’t take the likes of Siobhan Clarke down with you…”

On the Thursday, Elaine Robison had tried to fix a time and place for farewell drinks the following night, but Peter Bliss had grown cool on the idea.

“I’ve got plans,” he’d said.

“The weekend, then?”

Bliss had shaken his head. “Let’s just call it a day, eh? It’s not like we’ve anything to celebrate.”

“Peter…”

But Bliss had made up his mind. He couldn’t even find it in himself to meet Rebus’s eyes. Not until the Friday afternoon, when they were emptying the contents of their desk drawers into carrier bags, readying to walk out of the office for the last time. Daniel Cowan had already said his goodbyes—he’d gone to a meeting of the new unit, a spring in his step. Robison was in the loo. Bliss had picked his moment and confronted Rebus.

“Gregor Magrath was one of the good guys,” he stated. “In my books, he still is and always will be. What you’re trying to do is take a dump all over his legacy. I won’t have any part of that, and I’ll never forgive you for it.”

“Have you talked to him?” Rebus asked.

“He’s in agonies about this. Taken in for questioning on your say-so.” Color was rising to Bliss’s cheeks, his voice beginning to shake with emotion.

“He’s been covering his brother’s arse for years.”

“You’re like a stuck record, Rebus.”

“Maybe so, but the song’s still a smash. Magrath played you, Peter—is that what sticks in your craw?”

“The man deserves some dignity.”

“And what do the victims deserve, eh?”

Bliss made a guttural sound and snatched the carrier bag from his desk, shoving his way past Rebus and stalking down the corridor. Robison came back to find Rebus waiting for her.

“Guess this is it,” she said. Then she noted Bliss’s absence.

“He was in a hurry,” Rebus apologized. She tried giving him a hard look, but her heart wasn’t in it. They embraced and she pecked his cheek.

“Here’s to fresh pastures,” she said, squeezing his arm. Rebus closed the door after them.

That evening, after one too many drinks, he made the usual call. The phone rang at the other end, and kept ringing until the automated voice told him to leave a message.