‘So?’

‘So a trial, an open trial, would expose them.’

‘You’re warning me about spooks?’

Levy put his hands together, almost in an attitude of prayer. ‘Look, I’m not sure this has been a completely satisfactory meeting, and for that I apologise. I’ll be staying here for a few days, maybe longer if necessary. Could we try this again?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, think about it, won’t you?’

Levy extended his right hand. Rebus took it. ‘I’ll be right here, Inspector. Thank you for seeing me.’

‘Take care, Mr Levy.’

‘Shalom, Inspector.’

At his desk, Rebus could still feel Levy’s handshake. Surrounded by the Villefranche files, he felt like the curator of some museum visited only by specialists and cranks. Evil had been done in Villefranche, but had Joseph Lintz been responsible? And even if he had, had he perhaps atoned during the past half-century? Rebus phoned the ProcuratorFiscal’s office to let them know how little progress he was making. They thanked him for calling. Then he went to see the Farmer.

‘Come in, John, what can I do for you?’

‘Sir, did you know the Crime Squad had set up a surveillance on our patch?’

‘You mean Flint Street?’

‘So you know about it?’

‘They keep me informed.’

‘Who’s acting as liaison?’

The Farmer frowned. ‘As I say, John, they keep me informed.’

‘So there’s no liaison at street level?’

The Farmer stayed silent. ‘By rights there should be, sir.’

‘What are you getting at, John?’

‘I want the job.’

The Farmer stared at his desk. ‘You’re busy on Villefranche.’

‘I want the job, sir.’

‘John, liaison means diplomacy. It’s never been your strongest suit.’

So Rebus explained about Candice, and how he was already tied into the case. ‘And since I’m already in, sir,’ he concluded, ‘I might as well act as liaison.’

‘What about Villefranche?’

‘That remains a priority, sir.’

The Farmer looked into his eyes. Rebus didn’t blink. ‘All right then,’ he said at last.

‘You’ll let Fettes know?’

‘I’ll let them know.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Rebus turned to leave.

‘John ...?’

The Farmer was standing behind his desk. ‘You know what I’m going to say.’

‘You’re going to tell me not to tread on too many toes, not to go off on my own little crusade, to keep in regular contact with you, and not betray your trust in me. Does that just about do it, sir?’

The Farmer shook his head, smiling. ‘Bugger off,’ he said.

Rebus buggered off.

When he walked into the room, Candice rose so quickly from her chair that it fell to the floor. She came forward and gave him a hug, while Rebus looked at the faces around them - Ormiston, Claverhouse, Dr Colquhoun, and a WPC.

They were in an Interview Room at Fettes, Lothian and Borders Police HQ Colquhoun was wearing the same suit as the previous day and the same nervous look. Ormiston was picking up Candice’s chair. He’d been standing against one wall. Claverhouse was seated at the table beside Colquhoun, a pad of paper in front of him, pen poised above it.