She straightened her back, took a deep breath and released it. ‘That’s my belief.’

Rebus was thoughtful. ‘Why would he do something like that?’

‘Because of who he is.’ She left the statement hanging in the air. The ringing of the phone was a sudden cacophony. She fumbled to find the right button to press.

‘Hello?’

Then her face relaxed a little. ‘Hello, darling, what time will you be home … ?’

Rebus waited till the call was finished. He was thinking of the press conference, the way John Balfour had said ‘I’ rather than ‘we’, as if his wife had no feelings, no existence …

‘That was John,’ she said. Rebus nodded.

‘He’s in London a lot, isn’t he? Doesn’t it get lonely out here?’

She looked at him. ‘I do have friends, you know.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. You probably go into Edinburgh a lot.’

‘Once or twice a week, yes.’

‘Do you see much of your husband’s business partner?’

She looked at him again. ‘Ranald? He and his wife are probably our best friends … Why do you ask?’

Rebus made show of scratching his head. ‘I don’t know. Just making conversation, I suppose.’

‘Well don’t.’

‘Don’t make conversation?’

‘I don’t like it. I feel like everyone’s trying to trap me. It’s like at business parties, John’s always warning me not to give anything away, you never know who’s fishing for some info on the bank.’

‘We’re not competitors here, Mrs Balfour.’

She bowed her head a little. ‘Of course not. I apologise. It’s just …’

‘No need for apologies,’ Rebus said, getting to his feet. ‘This is your home, your rules. Wouldn’t you say?’

‘Well, when you put it like that …’ She seemed to brighten a little. All the same, Rebus reckoned that whenever Jacqueline Balfour’s husband was at home, it was his rules they played by …

Inside the house, he found two colleagues sitting comfortably in the lounge. The WPC introduced herself as Nicola Campbell. The other officer was CID based at Fettes HQ. His name was Eric Bain, more usually called ‘Brains’. Bain was seated at a desk upon which sat a land-line telephone, notebook and pen, and a recording machine, along with a mobile phone connected to a laptop. Having established that the current caller was Mr Balfour, Bain had slid the headphones back down around his neck. He was drinking strawberry yoghurt straight from the pot, and nodded a greeting at Rebus.

‘Cushy number,’ Rebus said, admiring the surroundings.

‘If you don’t mind the crushing boredom,’ Campbell admitted.

‘What’s the deal with the laptop?’

‘It connects Brains to his nerdy friends.’

Bain wagged a finger at her. ‘It’s part of the TT technology: tracking and tracing.’ Concentrating on the last vestiges of his snack, he didn’t see Campbell mouth the word ‘nerd’ at Rebus.