7

You can’t just wander in, you know.”

It was the next morning, and the uniform behind the desk at Gayfield Square police station didn’t like the look of Rebus. Rebus had some sympathy: his eyes were probably bloodshot, he had failed to locate a clean shirt, and his razor definitely needed a new blade. He had shown her his ID and waited to be buzzed through the locked door leading to the stairs.

“Who’s your appointment with?”

“I’m on secondment to CID.”

“That’s not what your card says.”

Rebus leaned forward until his face was almost touching the Plexiglas partition. “Are we going to have this every morning?”

“He’s with me, Juliet,” Siobhan Clarke said, coming in from outside. “Might as well get used to his ugly mug.”

“He needs to sign as a visitor. Then I can give him a badge.”

Clarke stared at the woman. “Really? I mean, really, Juliet? He’s attached to the McKie inquiry until further notice.”

“Then I should have been told.”

“So someone cocked up—there had to be a first time, eh?”

“I’m right here, by the way,” Rebus interrupted, feeling left out.

The officer’s face broke into an eventual smile—aimed at Clarke rather than Rebus. “Some proper identification by the end of the day…”

“Girl Guide’s honor.”

“I thought you said you’d never been a Girl Guide.” The smile was broadening as she pressed the button to let them through.

Clarke led Rebus into the heart of the building. “You’ll require a passport photo,” she told him. “Got one handy?”

“Never felt the need.”

She looked at him. “No passport?”

“Didn’t bother renewing it. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”

She looked at him again. “When was the last time you actually left the city—for pleasure, I mean?”

He gave a casual shrug as she continued to study him, this time taking in his clothes.

“James likes the officers under him to be presentable.”

“You might be under him from time to time—but not me.”

“Is this what I have to look forward to?” She gave him a stern look and asked where the files were.

“At home.” He saw that she was ready to remonstrate, so held up a hand. “I’m not being obstructive. It’s just that I was awake till three going through them again. Slept late and didn’t have time to pack them away.”

“Making you the resident expert until someone else gets a look-in?”

“You might almost call me indispensable.”

“Not even close, John.” They were outside the CID suite. The door, as usual, was wide open, a couple of detectives already seated at their desks. Walking in, Rebus caught the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The pot rested on top of a filing cabinet. Clarke poured for both of them.

“Anybody get milk?” she asked. There were shakes of the head.

“That must make me the cavalry,” James Page said, striding into the office. He carried a liter carton in one hand, brown leather satchel in the other.