Hogan exhaled. ‘This one’s running in circles.’

‘I know the feeling, Bobby.’

They looked up at the second-floor windows. Saw Colquhoun staring down, handkerchief to his face.

‘Let’s leave him to it,’ Hogan said, unlocking his car.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask: how did you get on with Abernethy?’

‘He didn’t give me too much trouble.’

Hogan avoided Rebus’s eyes.

‘So he’s gone?’

Hogan had disappeared into the driver’s seat. ‘He’s gone. See you, John.’

Leaving Rebus on the pavement, a frown on his face. He waited till Hogan’s car had turned the corner, then went back into the stairwell and climbed the steps again.

Colquhoun’s office door was open, the old man fidgeting behind his desk. Rebus sat down opposite him, said nothing.

‘I’ve been ill,’ Colquhoun said.

‘You’ve been hiding.’

Colquhoun started shaking his head. ‘You told them where to find Candice.’

Head still shaking. ‘Then you got worried, so they hid you away, maybe in a room at, the casino.’

Rebus paused. ‘How am I doing?’

‘I’ve no comment to make,’ Colquhoun snapped.

‘What if I just keep talking then?’

‘I want you to leave now. If you don’t go, I’ll have to call my lawyer.’

‘Name of Charles Groal?’ Rebus smiled. ‘They might have spent the last few days tutoring you, but they can’t change what you’ve done.’

Rebus stood up. ‘You sent Candice back to them. You did that.’

He leaned down over the desk. ‘You knew all along who she was, didn’t you? That’s why you were so nervous. How come you knew who she was, Dr Colquhoun? How come you’re so chummy with a turd like Tommy Telford?’

Colquhoun picked up the receiver, his hands shaking so badly he kept missing the digits.

‘Don’t bother,’ Rebus said. ‘I’m going. But we’ll talk again. And you mill talk. You’ll talk because you’re a coward, Dr Colquhoun. And cowards always talk eventually ...’

23

The Crime Squad office at Fettes: home of country and western; Claverhouse terminating a phone call. No sign of Ormiston and Clarke.

‘They’re out on a call,’ Claverhouse said.

‘Any progress on that stabbing?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think there’s something you should know.’

Rebus seated himself behind Siobhan Clarke’s desk, admiring its tidy surface. He opened a drawer: it was tidy, too. Compartments, he thought to himself. Clarke was very good at dividing her life into separate compartments. ‘Jake Tarawicz is in town. He’s got this outrageous white limo, hard to miss.’

Rebus paused. ‘And he’s brought Candice with him.’

‘What’s he doing here?’

‘I think he’s here for the show.’

‘What show?’

‘Cafferty and Telford, fifteen rounds of bare-knuckle and no referee.’

Rebus leaned forward, arms on the desk. ‘And I’ve got an idea where it’s headed.’

Rebus went home, called Patience and told her he might be late.

‘How late?’ she asked.

‘How late can I be without us falling out?’

She thought about it. ‘Half-nine.’

‘I’ll be there.’

He checked his answering machine: David Levy, saying he could be reached at home.