John Balfour had one arm around his wife. Some of Flip’s student friends were hugging each other, faces buried in shoulders and chests. Rebus recognised faces: Tristram and Tina, Albert and Camille … No sign of Claire Benzie. He spotted some of Flip’s neighbours, too, including Professor Devlin, who had come bustling up to talk to him earlier, asking about the coffins, whether there’d been any progress. When Rebus had shaken his head, Devlin had asked how he was feeling.

‘Only, I sense a certain frustration,’ the old man had said.

‘That’s how it is sometimes.’

Devlin had studied him. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a pragmatist, Inspector.’

‘I’ve always found pessimism a great comforter,’ Rebus had told him, moving away.

Now, Rebus watched the rest of the procession. There was a smattering of politicians, including the MSP Seona Grieve. David Costello preceded his parents out of the church, blinking at the sudden light, digging sunglasses from his breast pocket and slipping them on.

Victim’s eyes catching the likeness of the killer …

Anyone looking at David Costello would see only their own reflection. Was that precisely what Costello wanted them to see? Behind him, his mother and father walked their separate and very distinct walks, more like nodding acquaintances than spouses. As the crowd lost its shape, David found himself next to Professor Devlin. Devlin stuck out a hand for David to shake, but the young man just stared at it, until Devlin withdrew and patted his arm instead.

But now something was happening … A car arriving, door slamming, and a man dressed casually – woollen V-neck and grey slacks – jogging up the road and in through the churchyard gates. Rebus recognised an unshaven and bleary-eyed Ranald Marr, guessed at once that Marr had slept in his Maserati, saw Steve Holly’s face crease as he wondered what was going on. The procession had just reached the graveside when Marr caught it up. He walked straight to the front and stood in front of John and Jacqueline Balfour. Balfour released his grip on his wife, hugged Marr instead, the gesture returned. Templer and Pryde were looking to Colin Carswell, who made a motion with his hands, palms down. Easy, he was saying. We go easy.

Rebus didn’t think any of the reporters had noticed Carswell; too busy trying to make sense of this curious interruption. And then he saw that Siobhan was staring into the grave, eyes flickering to the coffin and back, as if she could see something there. All at once, she turned her back on proceedings and started walking between the tombstones, as if searching for something she’d dropped.