Rebus got the feeling Costello wouldn’t have said anything, but Jacqueline Balfour’s accusations against his son had tipped the balance. He made his first note of the interview: ‘check Balfour’s’.

He’d had a notion himself: to bring up the matter of father and son’s wild days in Dublin. But David seemed calmer now, his teenage years in the past. And as for his father, well, Rebus had seen intimations of a short temper. He didn’t think he needed a further lesson.

There was silence in the room again.

‘Will that do you for now, Inspector?’ Costello said, making show of reaching into his trousers and drawing out a pocket watch, flipping it open and snapping it closed.

‘Just about,’ Rebus admitted. ‘Do you know when the funeral is?’

‘Wednesday,’ Costello said.

It was sometimes the case, in a murder inquiry, that the victim was left unburied as long as possible, just in case some new piece of evidence came to light. Rebus reckoned strings had been pulled: John Balfour again, getting his own way.

‘Is it a burial?’

Costello nodded. A burial was good. With a cremation, it wasn’t quite so easy to disinter the body should the need arise …

‘Well,’ he said, ‘unless there’s anything either of you would like to add … ?’

There wasn’t. Rebus got to his feet. ‘All right, DS Wylie?’ he said. It was as if she’d been roused from sleep.

Costello insisted on seeing them to the door, shook both their hands. David didn’t get up from his chair. He was lifting the apple to his mouth as Rebus said goodbye.

Outside, the door clicked shut. Rebus stood there for a moment, but couldn’t make out any voices from within. He noticed the next door along was open a couple of inches, Theresa Costello peering out.

‘Everything okay?’ she was asking Wylie.

‘Everything’s fine, madam,’ Wylie told her.

Before Rebus could get there, the door had closed again. He was left wondering whether Theresa Costello felt as trapped as she looked …

In the lift, he told Wylie he’d drop her off.

‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’m walking.’

‘Sure?’ She nodded, and he checked his watch. ‘Your half-eleven?’ he guessed.

‘That’s right.’ Her voice died away.

‘Well, thanks for all your help.’

She blinked, as though having difficulty taking the words in. He stood in the main lobby and watched her make for the revolving door. A moment later, he followed her out on to the street. She was crossing Princes Street, holding her bag in front of her, almost jogging. She made her way up the side of Fraser’s store, towards Charlotte Square, where Balfour’s had its headquarters. He wondered where she was headed: George Street, or maybe Queen Street? Down into the New Town? The only way to find out was to follow her, but he doubted she would appreciate his curiosity.