Siobhan threw herself at the wall, grabbed the other leg with both hands and pulled. He tried kicking her off, but she held on, one hand reaching up towards his jacket, trying to haul him back. Then they were both flying backwards, his the only cry. His sunglasses seemed to float past her in slow motion. She was watching them when she hit the ground. He landed heavily on top of her, the air exploding from her lungs. She felt pain as her head connected with the grass. Costello was on his feet and running, but two of the officers had him, wrestled him back on to the ground. He managed to slide his head round so he was looking at Siobhan, the two of them only a couple of yards apart. Hatred filled his face, and he spat in her direction. The saliva hit her on the chin and hung there. Suddenly she didn’t have the strength to wipe it off …

Jean was asleep, but the doctor assured Rebus she’d be fine: cuts and bruises, ‘nothing time can’t heal’.

‘I very much doubt that,’ he told the doctor.

Ellen Wylie was there by the bedside. Rebus walked over and stood beside her. ‘I wanted to say thanks,’ he told her.

‘For what?’

‘Helping break down Devlin’s door, for one thing. I’d never have done it on my own.’

Her reply was a shrug. ‘How’s the ankle?’ she asked.

‘Ballooning nicely, thank you.’

‘A week or two on the sick,’ she said.

‘Maybe more, if I swallowed any of the Water of Leith.’

‘I hear Devlin took a good few gulps himself.’ She stared at him. ‘Got a good story prepared?’

He smiled. ‘You offering to tell a lie or two on my behalf ?’

‘Just say the word.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Problem is, a dozen witnesses could say otherwise.’

‘But will they?’

‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’ Rebus said.

He limped along to A&E, where Siobhan was having a couple of stitches put into a head wound. Eric Bain was there. The conversation stopped as Rebus approached.

‘Eric here,’ Siobhan said, ‘was just explaining how you worked out where I’d be.’ Rebus nodded. ‘And how you gained entry to David Costello’s flat.’

Rebus made an O with his lips.

‘Mr Strongarm,’ she went on, ‘kicking in a suspect’s door without authority or any sniff of a warrant.’

‘Technically,’ Rebus told her, ‘I was on suspension. That means I wasn’t a serving officer.’

‘Making it even worse.’ She turned to Bain. ‘Eric, you’re going to have to cover for him.’

‘Door was open when we got there,’ Bain recited. ‘Botched break-in, probably …’

Siobhan nodded and smiled at him. Then she gave Bain’s hand a squeeze …

Donald Devlin was under police guard in one of the Western General’s private rooms. He’d half drowned in the river and was now in what the doctors were calling a coma.

‘Let’s hope he stays there,’ ACC Colin Carswell had said. ‘Save us the expense of a prosecution.’