‘Shut up!’

He shut up.

And now here he was at the press conference, and there was Inspector Gill Templer, who had such a rapport with the press, handing out sheets of paper – the official release – and generally making sure that everyone knew what was going on. And Rebus, of course, looking the same as ever. Which was to say, tired and suspicious. Watson and Lauderdale hadn’t made their entrance yet, but would do so soon.

‘Well, Brian,’ said Rebus quietly, ‘reckon they’ll promote you to Inspector for this?’

‘No.’

‘What then? You look like a kid who’s about to get the school prize.’

‘Come on, be fair. We all know you did most of the work.’

‘Yes, but you stopped me haring after the wrong man.’

‘So?’

‘So now I owe you a favour.’ Rebus grinned. ‘I hate owing favours.’

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ came Gill Templer’s voice, ‘if you’ll find yourselves a seat we can start . . .’

A moment later Watson and Lauderdale entered the room. Watson was first to speak.

‘I think you all know why we’ve called this conference.’ He paused. ‘We’re looking for two men we think may be able to help us with a certain inquiry, a murder inquiry. The names are Ronald Adam Steele and Gregor Gordon Jack . . .’

The local evening paper had it in by its lunchtime edition. The radio stations were broadcasting the names in their hourly news slots. The early evening TV news carried the story. The usual questions were being asked, to which the usual ‘no comment’s were being appended. But the phone call itself came only at half past six. The call was from Dr Frank Forster.

‘I’d have known sooner, Inspector, only we don’t like to let the patients listen to the news. It just upsets them. It’s only when I was getting ready to go home that I turned on the radio in my office . . .’

Rebus was tired. Rebus was terribly, terribly tired. ‘What is it, Dr Forster?’

‘It’s your man Jack, Gregor Jack. He was here this afternoon. He was visiting Andrew Macmillan.’

13
Hot-Head

It was nine that evening when Rebus reached Duthil Hospital. Andrew Macmillan was sitting in Forster’s office, arms folded, waiting.

‘Hello again,’ he said.

‘Hello, Mr Macmillan.’

There were five of them: two ‘nurses’, Dr Forster, Macmillan and Rebus. The nurses stood behind Macmillan’s chair, their bodies less than two inches from his.

‘We’ve sedated him,’ Forster had explained to Rebus. ‘He may not be as talkative as usual, but he should stay calm. I heard about what happened last time . . .’

‘Nothing happened last time, Dr Forster. He just wanted to have a normal conversation. What’s wrong with that?’

Macmillan looked on the verge of sleep. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his smile fixed. He unfolded his arms and rested the hands delicately on his knees, reminding Rebus at that moment of Mrs Corbie . . .

‘Inspector Rebus wants to ask you about Mr Jack,’ explained Forster.