‘So,’ said Rebus, ‘three weeks out of four they’d cancel? How did they cancel?’

‘By telephone,’ said Hector. ‘Usually Mr Jack. Always very apologetic. Constituency business . . . or Mr Steele was ill . . . or, well, there were a number of reasons.’

‘Excuses you mean,’ Cassidy said.

‘Mind you,’ said Bill, ‘sometimes Gregor’d turn up anyway, wouldn’t he?’

Colin conceded that this was so. ‘I went a round with him myself one Wednesday when Steele hadn’t shown up.’

‘So,’ said Rebus, ‘Mr Jack came to the club more often than Mr Steele?’

There were nods at this. Sometimes he’d cancel, then turn up. He wouldn’t play, just sit in the bar. Never the other way round: Steele never turned up without Jack. And on the Wednesday in question, the Wednesday Rebus was interested in?

‘It bucketed down,’ Colin said. ‘Hardly any bugger went out that day, never mind those two.’

‘They cancelled then?’

Oh yes, they cancelled. And no, not even Mr Jack had turned up. Not that day, and not since.

The lull was over. Members were coming in, either for a quick one before starting out or for a quick one before heading home. They came over to the little group, shook hands, swopped stories, and the group itself started to fragment, until only Rebus and Hector were left. The dentist laid a hand on Rebus’s arm.

‘One more thing, Inspector,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘I hope you won’t think I’m being unsubtle . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘But you really should get your teeth seen to.’

‘So I’ve been told, sir,’ Rebus said. ‘So I’ve been told. Incidentally, I hope you won’t think I’m being unsubtle . . .?’

‘Yes, Inspector?’

Rebus leaned close to the man, the better to hiss into his ear. ‘I’m going to try my damnedest to see you on a charge for obstruction.’ He placed his empty glass on the bar.

‘Cheers then,’ said Barman Bill. He took the glass and rinsed it in the machine, then placed it on the plastic drip-mat. When he looked up, Hector was still standing where the policeman had left him, his sherry glass rigid in his hand.

‘You told me on Friday,’ Rebus said, ‘that you were jettisoning what you didn’t need.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I take it you did feel you needed the alibi of your golf game?’

‘What?’

‘Your weekly round with your friend Ronald Steele.’

‘What about it?’

‘Funny isn’t it? I’m making the statements and you’re asking the questions. Should be the other way round.’

‘Should it?’

Gregor Jack looked like a war casualty who could still hear and see the battle, no matter how far from the front he was dragged. The newsmen were still outside his gates, while Ian Urquhart and Helen Greig were still inside. The sounds of a printer doing its business came from the distant back office. Urquhart was ensconced in there with Helen. Another day, another press release.

‘Do I need a solicitor?’ Jack asked now, his eyes dark and sleepless.