“You made copies,” she stated. “All those files you brought to the office…”

“Not all of them,” Rebus countered. “Just the official reports and statements. I skipped the newspaper cuttings.”

“Jesus, John.”

“You’ve seen what the office is like, Siobhan. I lugged all those boxes in there, and they’ve not been opened yet.”

“You might not have noticed, but we’ve been a bit busy.”

“You were going to find another room we could use.”

“And I will, given a bit of time.” She paused. “But that’s not what this is about. You made the copies before you handed the boxes over. You never intended to let them go, not completely.”

“I get bored, Siobhan. A bit of reading whiles away the hours…”

She gave him another look. “This sort of thing, it’s meat and drink to the Complaints.”

“Only if they find out about it.”

“What makes you think they won’t?”

Rebus shrugged. “This is the way I’ve always worked, Siobhan—you know that.”

“It’s also why people you work with tend not to last long. Remember Brian Holmes and Jack Morton?” She watched as his face darkened. “Okay, sorry, that’s a low blow.”

“Did Fox just happen to drop those names into your wee chat?”

“He’s out to get you, John. He even came to my flat.”

“When?”

“Last night. Warning me off, telling me I should be on his side rather than yours.” She began to slide the sheets of paper back into the shopping bag, then asked him if he’d seen Nina Hazlitt’s interview.

“Was it on TV?”

Clarke shook her head. “Webcast for some news agency. She thanked us for everything we were doing.”

“Nice of her.”

“She handles herself well in front of a camera. No sign of craziness.”

“She’s not crazy.” But Rebus was remembering her last phone call, voice verging on the hysterical.

“She still needs reining in, if at all possible.”

“And I’m the man for the job? Is this your thinking or Page’s?” Rebus waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. “He told you to come here?” He walked to the window and peered down on to the street. “Is he waiting in his car? What does he drive?”

It was a BMW, double-parked twenty yards up. There was someone in the driver’s seat.

“Why didn’t you bring him in? Afraid it might have diluted those feminine charms of yours?”

She glowered at him. “This was my idea, John. And if I had brought him up, you’d be off the case right now.” She pointed towards the shopping bags.

“He wouldn’t have got over the threshold.”

She closed her eyes for a second. A text arrived on her phone.

“That’ll be him,” Rebus muttered. “Wondering what’s taking so long.”

Clarke read the text and turned towards the door. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said quietly.