'He's keen on golf, isn't he?'

'Oh yes.'

Rebus closed the boot shut. 'I've never seen the attraction myself. The ball's too small and the pitch is too big. Shall we go in?'

Gregor Jack looked like he'd been to hell and back on an LRT bus. He'd probably combed his hair yesterday or the day before, and last changed his clothes then, too. He was shaven, but there were small patches of dark stubble the razor had missed. He didn't bother rising when Rebus entered the room. He just nodded a greeting and gestured with his glass to a vacant chair, one of the infamous marshmallow chairs. Rebus approached with care.

There was whisky in Jack's crystal tumbler, and a bottle of the stuff – three quarters empty – on the rug beside him. The room smelt unaired and unpolished. Jack took a gulp of liquid, then used the edge of the glass to scratch at his raw red finger.

'I want to talk to you, Inspector Rebus.'

Rebus sat down, sinking, sinking… 'Yes, sir?'

'I want to say a few things about me… and maybe about Liz, too, in a roundabout way.'

It was another prepared speech, another well-considered opening. There were just the two of them in the room. Urquhart had said he'd make a pot of coffee. Rebus, still jumpy from his meeting with Watson, had begged for tea. Helen Greig, it seemed, was at home, her mother having been taken ill – 'again', as Urquhart put it, before marching off kitchenwards. Faithful women: Helen Greig and Cath Kinnoul. Doggedly faithful. And Elizabeth Jack? Doggie-style faithful maybe… Christ, that was a terrible thing to think! And especially of the dead, especially of a woman he'd never met! A woman who liked to be tied to bedposts for a spot of…

'It's nothing to do with… well, I don't know, maybe it is.' Jack paused for thought. 'You see, Inspector, I can't help feeling that if Liz saw those stories about me, and if they upset her, then maybe she did something… or stayed away… and maybe…' He leapt to his feet and wandered over towards the window, looking out at nothing. 'What I'm trying to say is, what if I'm responsible?'

'Responsible, sir?'

'For Liz's… murder. If we'd been together, if we'd been here together, it might never have happened. It wouldn't have happened. Do you see what I mean?'

'No good blaming yourself, sir – '

Jack whirled towards him. 'But that's just it, I do blame myself.'

'Why don't you sit down, Mr Jack -'

'Gregor, please.'

'All right… Gregor. Now why don't you sit down and calm down.'

Jack did as he was told. Bereavement affected different people in different ways, the weak becoming strong and the strong becoming weak. Ronald Steele hurled books around, Gregor Jack became… pathetic. He was scratching at the finger again. 'But it's all so ironic,' he spat.

'How's that?' Rebus wished the tea would hurry up. Maybe Jack would pull himself together in Urquhart's presence.

'That brothel,' Jack said, fixing Rebus's eyes with his own. 'That's what started it all. And the reason I was there…'

Rebus sat forward. 'Why were you there, Gregor?'

Gregor Jack paused, swallowed, seemed to take a breath while he thought about whether to answer or not. Then he answered.

'To see my sister.'

There was silence in the room, so profound that Rebus could hear his watch ticking. Then the door flew open.

'Tea,' said Ian Urquhart, sidling into the room.

Rebus, who had been so eager for Urquhart's arrival, now couldn't wait for the man to leave. He rose from the chair and walked to the mantelpiece. The card from The Pack was still there, but it had been joined by over a dozen condolence cards – some from other MPs, some from family and friends, some from the public. Urquhart seemed to sense the atmosphere in the room. He left the tray on a table and, without a word, made his exit. The door had barely closed before Rebus said, 'What do you mean, your sister?'

'I mean just that. My sister was working in that brothel. Well, I suspected she was, I'd been told she was. I thought maybe it was a joke, a sick joke. Maybe a trap, to get me to a brothel. A trap and a trick. I thought long and hard before I went, but I still went. He'd sounded so confident.'

'Who had?'

'The caller. I'd been getting these calls…" Ah yes, Rebus had meant to ask about those. 'By the time I got to the phone, the caller would have hung up. But one night, the caller got me straight away, and he told me: "Your sister's working in a brothel in the New Town." He gave me the address, and said if I went around midnight she'd just be starting her… shift.' The words were like some food he didn't enjoy, but given him at a banquet so that he didn't dare spit it out, but had to go on chewing, trying hard not to swallow… He swallowed. 'So along I went, and she was there. The caller had been telling the truth. I was trying to talk to her when the police came in. But it was a trap, too. The newsmen were there…'

Rebus was remembering the woman in the bed, the way she kicked her legs in the air, the way she'd lifted her t-shirt for the photographers to see…

'Why didn't you say anything at the time, Gregor?'

Jack laughed shrilly. 'It was bad enough as it was. Would it have been any better if I'd let everyone know my sister's a tart?'

'Well then, why tell me now?'

His voice was calm. 'It looks to me, Inspector, like I'm in deep water. I'm just jettisoning what I don't need.'

'You must know then, sir… you must have known all along, that someone is setting you up to take a very big fall.'

Jack smiled. 'Oh yes.'

'Any idea who? I mean, any enemies?'

The smile again. 'I'm an MP, Inspector. The wonder is that I have any friends.'

'Ah yes, The Pack. Could one of them…?'

'Inspector, I've racked my brain and I'm no nearer finding out.' He looked up at Rebus. 'Honest.'

'You didn't recognize the caller's voice?'

'It was heavily muffled. Gruff. A man probably, but to be honest it could have been a woman.'

'Okay then, what about your sister? Tell me about her.'

It was soon told. She'd left home young, and never been heard of. Vague rumours of London and marriage had drifted north over the years, but that was all. Then the phone call…

'How could the caller know? How might they have found out?'

'Now that's a mystery, because I've never told anybody about Gail.'

'But your schoolfriends would know of her?'

'Slightly, I suppose. I doubt any of them remember her. She was two years below us at school.'

'You think maybe she came back up here looking for revenge?'

Jack spread his palms. 'Revenge for what?'

'Well, jealousy then.'

'Why didn't she just get in touch?'

It was a point. Rebus made a mental note to get in touch with her, supposing she was still around. 'You haven't heard from her since?'

'Not before, not since.'

'Why did you want to see her, Gregor?'

'One, I really was interested.' He broke off.

'And two?'

'Two… I don't know, maybe to talk her out of what she was doing.'

'For her own good, or for yours?'

Jack smiled. 'You're right, of course, bad for the image having a sister on the game.'

'There are worse forms of prostitution than whoring.'

Jack nodded, impressed. 'Very deep, Inspector. Can I use that in one of my speeches? Not that I'll be making many of those from now on. Whichever way you look at it, my career's down the Swanny.'

'Never give up, sir. Think of Robert the Bruce.'

'And the spider, you mean? I hate spiders. So does Liz.' He halted. 'Did Liz.'

Rebus wanted to keep the conversation moving. The amount of whisky Jack had drunk, he might tip over any minute. 'Can I ask you about that last party up at Deer Lodge?'

'What about it?'

'For a start, who was present?'

Having to use his memory seemed to sober Jack up. Not that he could add much to what Barney Byars had already told Rebus. It was a boozy, sit-around-and-chat evening, followed by a morning hike up some nearby mountain, lunch – at the Heather Hoose – and then home. Jack's only regret was inviting Helen Greig to go.