‘No …’ She paused, then looked up at him. ‘Come to think of it, I didn’t think you were that interested.’

‘I changed my mind.’

‘Why?’

‘Ever sat at home watching paint dry?’

‘I’ve been on dates where it would have been preferable.’

‘Then maybe you know what I mean.’

She nodded, flicking the pages of the book. Then a frown appeared on her forehead, she stopped nodding, and looked up at him again. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I don’t have the faintest idea what you mean.’

‘Good, that means you’re learning.’

‘Learning what?’

‘John Rebus’s own patented brand of existentialism.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘That’s a word I didn’t know till today, and I’ve got you to thank.’

‘So what does it mean?’

‘I didn’t say I knew what it meant, but I think it’s got quite a lot to do with choosing not to watch paint dry …’

They went back to St Leonard’s, but there was no news. Officers were practically bouncing off the walls. They needed a breakthrough. They needed a break. A fight had to be broken up in the toilets: two uniforms who couldn’t say how it started. Rebus watched Siobhan for a few minutes. She went from one huddle to another, desperate to know things. He could see she was having trouble holding on: a head full of theories and fancies. She, too, needed the breakthrough, the break. He walked up to her. Her eyes were glistening. Rebus took hold of her arm, escorted her outside. She resisted at first.

‘When did you last eat?’ he asked.

‘You bought me those Scampi Fries.’

‘I mean a hot meal.’

‘You sound like my mum …’

The short walk led them to an Indian restaurant on Nicolson Street. It was dark and up a flight of stairs and mostly empty. Tuesday had become the new Monday: a dead night on the town. The weekend started on Thursday as you planned how to spend your pay, and ended with a quick pint after work on the Monday so you could pick over the highlights just past. Tuesday, the sensible option was to go home, keep what cash you had.

‘You know Falls better than I do,’ she said now. ‘What landmarks are there?’

‘Well, the waterfall itself – you’ve seen that – and maybe Junipers – you’ve been there.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s about it.’

‘There’s a housing scheme, right?’

He nodded. ‘Meadowside. And there’s a petrol station just outside town. Plus Bev Dodds’s cottage and a few dozen commuters. Not even a church or a post office.’

‘No boxing ring then?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘And no bouquets, barbed wire or Frank Finlay House.’