'None of which will get her any further forward.'

'At least the hole rules out one theory.'

'Oh aye?'

'That you fired the gun yourself from in here.' Rebus nodded towards the window. 'At someone out there.'

'That's some imagination you've got.'

The two men stared at one another until Rebus exhaled loudly. 'I might as well head off then. You know where to find me if you need me.' He got the painting back on its hook and accepted the handshake that Cafferty was offering.

Outside, Clarke and Fox were waiting in Fox's car. Rebus climbed into the back.

'Well?' Clarke asked.

'There's a bullet hole in the far wall. He's got the bullet out and won't be handing it over to us any time soon.'

'You think he knows who did it?'

'I'd say he hasn't a cluethat's what's got him spooked.'

'So what now?'

'Now,' Rebus said, reaching forward to pat Fox on the shoulder, 'I get a lift home.'

'Are we invited in for coffee?'

'It's a flat, not a fucking Costa. Once you've dropped me, you young things can finish the evening doing whatever takes your fancy.' Rebus looked towards where the terrier was sitting on the pavement, watching the occupants of the car, its head cocked. 'Whose is the mutt?'

'Not sure. The uniforms asked around, but nobody's missing a pet. Couldn't be Cafferty's, could it?'

'Unlikely. Pets need looking after, and that's not the man's style.' Rebus had dug his cigarettes out of his pocket. 'Mind if I smoke in here?'

'Yes,' came the chorus from the front.

The dog was still watching as the car moved off. Rebus feared it was about to try following them. Clarke swivelled around so she was facing the rear seat.

'I'm fine,' Rebus told her. 'Thanks for asking.'

'I hadn't quite got round to it.'

'No, but you were going to.'

'It's good to see you.'

'Aye, you too,' Rebus conceded. 'Now, is there any chance you can get Jackie Stewart here to put the foot down? There's a cigarette with my name on it waiting at the other end...'

In his kitchen, Cafferty poured another whisky, adding a drop of water from the cold tap and finishing it in two swallows. He expelled air through his teeth and slammed the empty glass on to the table before running his hands down his face. The house was locked, all doors and windows checked. From his pocket he took the bullet, compressed from impact. Nine mil, just as Rebus had surmised. Once upon a time, Cafferty had kept a nine-mil pistol in the safe in his den, but he'd had to ditch it after having had recourse to use it. He placed the misshapen bullet next to the empty whisky glass, then opened a drawer and found what he was looking for, tucked away near the back. The note that had been shoved through his letter box a few days before. He unfolded it and examined the words again: I'M GOING TO KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID.

But what had Cafferty done? He pulled out a chair, sat down, and began to consider.

Day Two.

4.

Next morning, Doug Maxtone gestured for Fox to follow him out of the cramped office into the empty corridor of St Leonard's police station.

'I've just been briefed,' Maxtone said, 'by our friends from the west.'

'Anything you can share?'

'We discussed their request for that "ancillary support" I mentioned yesterday...' Maxtone broke off and waited.

Fox tapped a finger against his own chest and watched his boss nod slowly.

'You worked Professional Standards, Malcolm, so you know all about keeping your mouth shut.' Maxtone paused. 'But you also know about spying. You're going to be my eyes and ears in there, understood? I'll want regular updates.' He checked his watch. 'In a minute, you're going to go knock on the door. By then they'll have decided how much they need to tell you and how much they think they can get away with not sharing.'

'I seem to remember they wanted to vet potential candidates.'

Maxtone shook his head. 'I've made it pretty clear you're what's on offer.'

'Do they know I used to work Complaints?'

'Yes.'

'In which case I expect I'll be welcomed with open arms. Any other advice?'

'The boss is called Ricky Compston. Big wide bastard with a shaved head. Typical Glasgowthinks he's seen it all while we spend our days directing tourists to the castle.' Maxtone paused. 'None of the others bothered with introductions.'

'But they did tell you why they're here?'

'It's to do with a-' Maxtone broke off as the door to the CID suite swung open. A face appeared, glowering.

'That him?' a voice barked. 'When you're ready...'

The head disappeared, the door remaining ajar.

'I better go say hello,' Fox told his boss.

'We'll talk at the end of the day.'

Fox nodded and moved off, standing in front of the door, giving himself a moment before pushing it all the way open. There were five of them, all standing, mostly with arms folded.

'Shut the door then,' the man who had originally opened it said. Fox reckoned this must be Compston. He had the rough dimensions and general demeanour of a prize bull. No handshakes, just down to business.

'For the record,' Compston said, 'we know this is shite, yes?'

He seemed to require an answer, so Fox gave something that could have been construed as a nod of agreement.

'But in the spirit of cooperation, here we all are.' Compston stretched out an arm, taking in the room. The desks were sparsely furnishedjust laptops and mobile phones, plugged into chargers. Almost no paperwork and nothing pinned to the walls. Compston took a step forward, filling Fox's field of vision, so he knew who was in charge. 'Now I know what your boss is thinking: he's thinking you're going to run straight back to him every five minutes with the latest gossip. But that wouldn't be very wise, Detective Inspector Fox. Because if anything leaks, I know for a fact as hard as my last shit that it won't have come from my team. Is that clear?'

'I think I've some lactulose in my drawer, if that would help.'

One of the detectives gave a snort of laughter, and even Compston eventually broke into a brief smile.

'You know I used to be Professional Standards,' Fox ploughed on. 'That means I've got a fan club here with precisely no members. Probably explains why Maxtone chose mekeeps me out of his hair. Besides which, I don't expect he thinks this is going to be a laugh a minute. You might need me and you might not. I'm happy to sit on my arse playing Angry Birds for the durationsalary still goes into my bank.'

Compston studied the man in front of him, then turned his head towards his team.

'Initial assessment?'

'Standard Complaints wanker,' a man in a light blue shirt said, seeming to act as the voice of the group.

Compston raised an eyebrow. 'Alec isn't usually so effusive. On the other hand, he seldom gets people wrong. Standard Complaints wanker it is. So let's all sit down and get uncomfortable.'

They did, and introductions were finally made. The blue shirt was Alec Bell. He was probably in his early fifties, a good five or six years older than Compston. A taller, younger, undernourished-looking officer went by the name of Jake Emerson. The only woman present was called Beth Hastie. She reminded Fox a little of the First Ministersimilar age, haircut and facial shape. Finally there was Peter Hughes, probably the youngest of the team, dressed for the street in a padded denim jacket and black jeans.

'I thought there were six of you,' Fox commented.

'Bob Selway's otherwise engaged,' Compston explained. Fox waited for more.

'That makes five,' he said.

The group shared a look. Compston sniffed and shifted a little in his chair.

'Five it is,' he stated.

Fox noted that no ranks had been mentioned. It was clear Compston was in charge, with Bell as his trusted lieutenant. The others seemed like foot soldiers. If he had to guess, he'd say they hadn't known each other for any great length of time.

'Whatever it is you're up to, there's a surveillance element,' Fox said. 'You'll appreciate that surveillance used to be a big part of my job, so that might be the one skill I have that'd be useful to you.'

'Okay, smart-arse, how did you work that out?'

Fox's eyes met Compston's and stayed there. 'Selway is "otherwise engaged". Meantime Hughes is dressed so he doesn't stand out in certain situations. He looks fairly comfortable, too, which means he's done it before.' Fox paused. 'How am I doing?'

'Maxtone really didn't tell you?'

Fox shook his head, and Compston took a deep breath.

'You'll have heard of Joseph Stark?'

'Let's pretend I haven't.'

'Your boss hadn't heard of him either. Unbelievable.' Compston made show of shaking his head. 'Joe Stark is a Glasgow gangster of long and ugly standing. He's sixty-three years old and not quite ready to pass the baton to his son-'

'Dennis,' Alec Bell interrupted. 'Otherwise known as a nasty little turd.'

'With you so far,' Fox said.

'Joe and Dennis, along with some of their crew, have been enjoying a wee road trip of late. Inverness first, then Aberdeen and Dundee.'

'And now they're in Edinburgh?'

'Been here a couple of days and don't look like budging.'

'And you've had them under surveillance throughout?' Fox surmised.

'We want to know what they're doing.'

'You don't know?'

'We've got an inkling.'

'Do I get to hear it?'

'They might be looking for a guy called Hamish Wright. He's based in Inverness but has friends in Aberdeen, Dundee...'

'And here.'

'I say "friends", but contacts might be a better description. Wright runs a haulage business, which means he has lorries crossing to the Western Isles, Orkney and Shetland, even Ireland and the Continent.'

'Could be useful if there was something illegal that needed distributing.' A head-and-shoulders shot of Wright had been handed to Fox. He studied the face. It was chubby and freckled and topped by curly red hair. 'Looks like a Hamish,' he commented.

'Right.'

'Would it be drugs he's moving?'

'Oh yes.'

'For the Starks?' Fox watched Compston nod. 'So why haven't you busted him?'

'We were about to.'

'And we reckoned we'd take down Stark and his son too,' Bell added. 'But then Wright went AWOL.'

'And Stark's your best chance of finding him?' Fox nodded his understanding. 'But why's Stark so interested?'

'There'll be reasons,' Compston said.

'To do with money?'