‘I think something needs to be said.’ Her voice had risen. She glanced over towards where Grant was standing, body turned away from her, head twisted so his eyes were not quite on her.

But she knew he was pleading. Mr Boy-Tekky-Racer! Mr Nerdy-Well with his gadgets and flash car!

Better make that a bottle of gin, a whole crateful of gin. And sod the bath.

‘Oh?’ Rebus was asking, genuinely curious now.

I could finish your career right here, Grant. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said finally. Rebus stared at her, but she kept her eyes fixed on the paperwork before her.

‘Anything happening your end, Grant?’ he asked blithely, settling into his chair.

‘What?’ Colour bloomed in Grant’s cheeks.

‘The latest clue: anywhere near solving it?’

‘Not really, sir.’ Grant was standing by one of the other desks, gripping its edge.

‘How about you?’ Siobhan asked, shifting in her seat.

‘Me?’ Rebus tapped a pen against his knuckles. ‘I think today I’ve managed to achieve the square root of bugger all.’ He threw the pen down. ‘Which is why I’m buying.’

‘Already had a couple of drinks?’ Siobhan asked.

Rebus’s eyes narrowed. ‘A few. They put a friend of mine into the ground. Tonight, I was planning a private wake. If either of you would like to join me, that would be fine.’

‘I need to go home,’ Siobhan said.

‘I don’t …’

‘Come on, Grant. It’ll be good for you.’

Grant looked in Siobhan’s direction, seeking guidance, or maybe permission. ‘I suppose I might manage the one,’ he conceded.

‘Good lad,’ Rebus told him. ‘One drink it is.’

Having nursed his pint while Rebus downed two double whiskies and two beers, Grant was dismayed to find another half poured into his glass as soon as there was room for it.

‘I have to drive home,’ he warned.

‘Bloody hell, Grant,’ Rebus complained, ‘that’s about all I’ve heard from you.’

‘Sorry.’

‘And apologies make up the rest. I can’t see there’s any need to apologise for snogging Siobhan.’

‘I don’t know how it happened.’

‘Don’t try to analyse it.’

‘I think the case just got …’ He broke off at the sound of a dull electronic bleeping. ‘Yours or mine?’ he asked, already reaching into his jacket. But it was Rebus’s mobile. He angled his head to let Grant know he was taking it outside.

‘Hello?’ Cool twilight, taxis looking for trade. A woman nearly tripped over a cracked paving slab. A young man, shaven head and nose-ring, helped her retrieve the oranges which had tumbled from her shopping bag. A small act of kindness … but Rebus watched until the youth moved away, just in case.

‘John? It’s Jean. Are you working?’

‘Surveillance,’ Rebus told her.

‘Oh dear, do you want me to … ?’

‘It’s okay, Jean. I was joking. I’m just out having a drink.’

‘How was the funeral?’