Let them share, if it came to that.

He stayed half an hour in the room on the second floor, using the toilet and shower, the latter only because of the quality of towels in the bathroombetter than those in his Quartermile flat. Descending in coat and hat, he saw that the car was long gone. He pulled the brim down low and stepped out into the evening. He had more digging to do on the internet.

And Scotch broth for his supper.

Malcolm Fox was sitting in his car outside his father's care home. He had swallowed half a dozen painkillers and was feeling both numb and queasy. His plan had been to visit Mitch just to sit by his bed and wait for him to ask how he'd come by the bruises.

'In the line of duty.'

Yes, that was what he'd have saidor something along those lines.

Proper police work, Dad, the kind you always say I'd be rubbish at.

But then he would have fed Mitch an obvious comeback: Those bruises prove I was right...

So instead of the bedside vigil, he was staying in the car, hands resting on the steering wheel, head beginning to thrum again. He reckoned it was the caffeine in the tablets, mixed with adrenalinthe aftershock from his beating. He had been thumped before, but not for some time. Last fight he'd almost been in had been with Rebus a year or so back, until they'd realised how ridiculously it would have played out. He checked the damage in the rear-view mirror. He couldn't believe he'd been about to barge in on his father like a kid wanting sympathy for a grazed knee. After a fight one time at school, all Mitch had wanted to know was how much damage Malcolm had managed to inflict on his opponent. Sensing this, Malcolm had brought his imagination into play, until he could see that his father had stopped believing.

All fun and games, eh? he told himself now, studying his reflection. Picking up his phone, he saw that the incoming call was from Siobhan again. He was worried she'd be requesting a meet-up, and he wasn't quite ready for her sympathy. No, it was his father's sour realism he'd reached out forand part of him still wanted it. Instead of which, he turned the key in the ignition and decided to drive himself home to his bed.

His bedand another bag of frozen peas.

Day Five.

17.

It was still dark when Rebus's phone woke him. He wrestled with it while trying to switch on the bedside lamp.

'Hello?'

'John, it's Siobhan.'

'You're making a habit of thiswhat time is it?'

'Almost six. You need to come down to Leith.'

'What's happened?'

'Another shooting. Target wasn't so lucky this time.'

'Who?'

'Dennis Stark.'

Rebus had swung his legs out from beneath the duvet, feet touching the floor. 'Dead?' he asked.

'Dead,' Siobhan Clarke confirmed.

An alley off Constitution Street. The main road had been cordoned, officers in high-vis jackets detouring traffic and pedestrians. Mostly black cabs and shift workers, the rush hour still some way off. The media were there too, along with a few ghouls, who craned their necks, trying to get a better look.

Dennis Stark's body had been removed. The alley was just that: high walls, strewn rubbish and a couple of industrial-sized bins, one reinforced door providing the back entrance to an office. No CCTV, minimal street lighting. The scene of crime team were suited up and busy. A bleary-looking James Page was rubbing his gloved hands together as he gathered information from a SOCO. Rebus caught Siobhan Clarke's eye and she walked towards him, stony-faced and professional in protective overalls, hood and overshoes.

'They weren't going to let me through,' Rebus said, nodding in the direction of the cordon. 'Thought I was going to have to phone you to come get me.'

'The call came from one of the nearby flats,' Clarke informed him, sliding her face mask down to her throat. 'Three separate calls, actually, which is probably why the patrol took it seriously. Report of what sounded like a single gunshot. One of the callers was ex-army, said he knew for a fact that was what he'd heard. Calls came in at around three forty-five, and by four fifteen the body had been found.' She gestured towards the relevant spot. 'Slumped against the wall. Gunshot wound to the chest.'

'Nine mil?'

'Not sure yet.'

'Any note?'

'Same wording as before.'

Rebus puffed out his cheeks. 'Does Joe Stark know?'

'Someone was due to call Glasgow.'

'And Dennis's men?'

'We've got officers at the guest house. They'll be taken in for questioning.'

'How far is the guest house from here?'

'It's on Leith Links.'

'A two-minute walk, thenand with Leith police station halfway between the two.'

'But no one on duty that time of night.'

Rebus thought for a moment. 'This is bad, Siobhan.'

'I know.'

'Lord Minton, Cafferty, and now Dennis Stark.'

'We just need to find the connection.'

'What about Compston? Does he know?'

'Haven't seen him.'

'His team are supposed to be on the Starks twenty-four/seven.'

'I know, and I'm just about to break the news to Page.' She paused. 'While I do that, I thought you could have a word with Compston.'

'Why not Malcolm?'

'He's not answering his phone.'

'Okay, leave it with me.' Rebus watched the SOCOs as they shone their torches over the ground. 'Found the bullet yet?'

'No.'

'Still in the body, maybe?'

'Entry and exit wounds, according to the doc.'

'So the bullet's here somewhere?'

'It either is or it isn't.'

'Our shooter seems a bit more confident, doesn't he? Didn't want to get too close to Cafferty, yet he's no qualms about coming face to face with Dennis Stark.'

Clarke nodded her agreement.

'And what was Stark doing here anyway?'

'Right now your guess is as good as mine.'

Page called Clarke's name. She turned away from Rebus and marched towards him, pulling the mask back up. Rebus took his phone out and called Fox's mobile and home numbers. No answer. He took one last long look at the alley before heading back towards the cordon and his car.

Traffic was light as he drove across town to Oxgangs. He rang Fox's doorbell and then banged the door with his fist a couple of times for good measure. Moments later, he heard movement, and the door cracked open a couple of inches. Fox was dressed in a pair of dark blue pyjamas, groggy from sleep.

'Don't tell me you're here to sell me a dog?' he muttered.

'What the hell happened to you?' Rebus said, noticing Fox's face.

'I tried breaking up a fight outside the Gimlet.'

'The Starks?' Rebus guessed. 'And you just waded in?'

'Can we maybe discuss this in daylight hours?' Fox was blinking his eyes into focus as he assessed his bruises with the tips of his fingers.

'You got an alibi for quarter to four?'

'What am I supposed to have done?'

'That's pretty much the exact time someone shot and killed Dennis Stark.'

'Christ,' Fox said.

'As you say,' Rebus concurred.

While Fox was washing and getting dressed, Rebus made them a cafetiere of coffee. Fox walked into the kitchen knotting his tie. He had obviously been thinking.

'Cafferty and Christie, Chick Carpenter and Davie Dunnthey'll all have to be questioned.' He accepted the mug from Rebus and took a slurp. 'And what about Operation Junior?'

'That's why I'm here. No one's seen or heard from Compston and his crewyou got a number for them?'

'Should probably be Doug Maxtone actuallywe tell Maxtone, he tells Compston.'

'Where's the fun in that?'

'Fun?'

'You know what I mean.'

'I suppose I do.'

'There was a note left with Dennis.'

Fox's eyes widened above the rim of his mug. 'Same message?'

'Same message.'

'So it's our guy then, rather than any of those names I mentioned.'

'They all had reason to want Dennis punishedwe'll still need to talk to them.'

'Joe Stark is going to be incandescent.'

'I'd think.'

'And why didn't Dennis's men stop it happening?'

'We need to find that out.' Rebus paused. 'You discovered who the mole is yet?'

'What makes you think I'm interested?'

Rebus smiled. 'The way you reacted when Alec Bell told us. You're a born spy, Malcolmit's why you were so well suited to Complaints. I got the notion you'd want to test yourself.'

'Well, it so happens...'

'Go on then, impress me.'

'Jackie Dyson's the clear favourite.'

'And he didn't step in when you were getting that kicking?'

'He's the one who doled it out.'