Her eyes widened slightly. “Does he say why?”

“My idea is, he thought Fairstone had turned rat. Already no love lost between them, then someone calls Johnson and says I’m having a friendly drink with Fairstone.”

“And he murdered him for that?”

Rebus shrugged. “Must’ve had cause to worry.”

“But you don’t know why?”

“Not yet. Maybe it was just meant to scare Fairstone off.”

“You reckon this Bob character’s the missing link?”

“I think he can be persuaded.”

“How does Rod McAllister enter this food chain of yours?”

“We won’t know that until you use your brilliant detective powers on him.”

Siobhan started sliding her mouse around its mat, saving what she was working on. “I’ll see what I can do. You coming with me?”

He shook his head. “I need to get back to the interview room.”

“This talk you’re having with Johnson’s sidekick… is it formal?”

“Informally formal, you might say.”

“Then you should have someone else present.” She looked at him. “Go by the rule book for once in your life.”

He knew she was right. “I could wait till you’ve finished with the barman,” he suggested.

“Kind of you to offer.” She looked around the suite. DC Davie Hynds was taking a call, writing something down as he listened. “Davie’s your man,” she said. “Bit more flexible than George Silvers.”

Rebus looked towards Hynds’s desk. He’d finished the call and was putting the receiver down with one hand while still scribbling with the other. He saw that he was being stared at, looked up and lifted one eyebrow questioningly. Rebus crooked a finger, beckoning him over. He didn’t know Hynds well, hadn’t really worked with him much. But he trusted Siobhan’s judgment.

“Davie,” he said, laying a companionable arm on the younger man’s shoulder, “take a walk with me, will you? I need to fill you in on the guy we’re about to interview.” He paused. “Best bring that notebook with you…”

Twenty minutes in, however, and with Bob still giving them general background, there was a knock at the door. Rebus opened it, saw a female uniform standing there.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Call for you.” She pointed back towards reception.

“I’m busy here.”

“It’s DI Hogan. He says it’s urgent, and you’re to be pulled out of anything short of triple-bypass surgery.”

Despite himself, Rebus smiled. “His exact words?” he guessed.

“Exact words,” the female officer echoed. Rebus turned back into the room, told Hynds he wouldn’t be long. Hynds switched off the machines.

“Get you anything, Bob?” Rebus asked.

“I’m thinking maybe you should get me my lawyer, Mr. Rebus.”

Rebus stared at him. “That’ll be Peacock’s lawyer, too, will it?”

Bob considered this. “Maybe not just yet,” he said.

“Not just yet,” Rebus agreed, leaving the interview room. He told the officer he could find reception without her help, and entered the comms room, crossing the floor and through an open doorway. Picked up the handset that was lying on the desk.

“Hello?”

“Christ, John, have you gone into purdah or something?” Bobby Hogan sounded not altogether pleased. Rebus was watching the bank of screens in front of him. They showed half a dozen views of St. Leonard’s, exterior and interior, the viewpoints flickering every thirty seconds or so, shifting from one camera to another.

“What can I do for you, Bobby?”

“Forensics has finally come back to us on the shootings.”

“Oh, aye?” Rebus winced. He’d meant to try phoning them again.

“I’m headed down there. Suddenly remembered that I’d have to drive straight past St. Leonard’s.”

“They’ve found something, haven’t they, Bobby?”

“They say they’ve got a bit of a puzzle,” Hogan agreed. Then he broke off. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Not in so many words. It’s to do with the locus, am I right?” Rebus stared at one of the screens. It showed Detective Chief Superintendent Gill Templer entering the building. She carried a briefcase, with a heavy-looking satchel slung over one shoulder.

“That’s right. A few… anomalies.”

“Good word that: anomalies. Covers a multitude of sins.”

“I just wondered if you fancied coming with me.”

“What does Claverhouse say?”

There was a pause on the line. “Claverhouse doesn’t know,” Hogan said quietly. “The call came direct to me.”

“Why haven’t you told him, Bobby?”

Another pause. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe a certain fellow officer’s pernicious influence?”

“Maybe.”

Rebus smiled. “Pick me up when you’re ready, Bobby. Depending on what Forensics has got to tell us, I might have a few questions for them myself.”

He opened the interview room door, beckoned for Hynds to step into the corridor. “We’ll just be a minute, Bob,” he explained. Closed the door and faced Hynds, arms folded.

“I need to go to Howdenhall. Orders from above.”

“Want him put in the cells till you…?”

But Rebus was already shaking his head. “I want you to keep going. I shouldn’t be too long. If it gets sticky, call me on my mobile.”

“But…”

“Davie”-Rebus laid a hand on Hynds’s shoulder-“you’re doing fine in there. You’ll manage without me.”

“But there needs to be another officer present,” Hynds objected.

Rebus looked at him. “Has Siobhan been coaching you, Davie?” He pursed his lips, thought for a moment and then nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Ask DCS Templer if she’ll sit in with you.”

Both eyebrows shot up, connecting with Hynds’s fringe. “The boss won’t…”

“Yes, she will. Tell her it’s about Fairstone. Believe me, she’ll be only too happy to oblige.”

“She’ll need to be briefed first.”

The hand that had been resting on Hynds’s shoulder now patted it. “You do it.”

“But, sir…”

Rebus shook his head slowly. “This is your chance to show what you can do, Davie. Everything you’ve learned from watching Siobhan.” Rebus removed his hand and bunched it into a fist. “Time to start using it.”

Hynds pulled himself a little more upright as he nodded his agreement.

“Good lad,” Rebus said. He turned to leave but stopped in his tracks. “Oh, and Davie?”

“Yes?”

“Tell DCS Templer she needs to act mumsy.”

“Mumsy?”

Rebus nodded. “Just tell her,” he said, making for the exit.

“Forget the XJK. Anything from Porsche can leave the Jags standing.”

“I think the Jaguar’s a better-looking car, though,” Hogan argued, causing Ray Duff to look up from his work. “More classic.”

“Old-fashioned, you mean?” Duff was sorting out a large number of crime scene photos, spreading them across every available wall surface. The room they were in looked like a disused school laboratory, with four free-standing workbenches at its center. The photos showed the Port Edgar classroom from every conceivable angle, concentrating on the bloodied walls and floor and the positioning of the bodies.

“Call me a traditionalist,” Hogan said, folding his arms in the hope this would put an end to yet another of Ray Duff’s discussions.

“Go on, then: top five British cars.”

“I’m not that much of a buff, Ray.”

“I like my Saab,” Rebus added, responding to Hogan’s scowl with a wink.

Duff made a noise at the back of his throat. “Don’t get me started on the Swedes…”

“Okay, how about we concentrate on Port Edgar instead?” Rebus was thinking of Doug Brimson, another Jag fancier.

Duff was looking around, locating his laptop. He plugged it into an outlet on one of the benches and gestured for the two detectives to join him as he switched it on.

“Just while we’re waiting,” he said, “how’s Siobhan doing?”

“Fine,” Rebus assured him. “That little difficulty of hers…”

“Yes?”

“Resolved.”

“What difficulty?” Hogan asked. Rebus ignored the question.