'Get in,' Rebus said instead, unlocking the Saab. He rolled the window down and lit a cigarette.

'Give me one,' Cafferty demanded from the passenger seat.

'You don't smoke.'

'Never too late to start.' Cafferty gestured with his fingers, but Rebus showed him that the pack was empty. Cafferty cursed under his breath. 'So tell me what you got.'

'You firstwhat's Acorn House? And why does it ring a bell?'

Cafferty leaned back against the headrest. 'I'm going to say it just once moreyou don't want to know.'

But Rebus knew now. 'It was some sort of remand home, wasn't it? I remember going once with a posse from Summerhall. Couple of kids there thought they were the pickpocket equivalent of Butch and Sundance.' He stared at Cafferty. 'That's the place we're talking about, yes?'

Cafferty was scowling at the windscreen as if ready to punch it. 'Yes,' he eventually conceded.

'Michael Tolland used to work there?' Rebus guessed. 'That's why him being a care worker clicked with you?' He nodded to himself. 'And Jeffries and his pal Ritterthey... what?' He paused, running his hands around the steering wheel as he thought. 'It closed down, didn't it? Acorn House? Sometime in the late eighties.' He turned to look at Cafferty. 'What is it I'm not seeing? David Minton, he'd have been an advocate back then, wouldn't he? Running for Parliament but not getting in.'

'You're seeing all the small stuff,' Cafferty said, pressing his thumbs to his temples. 'Let's go have a drink somewhere so I can start to tell you the rest...'

24.

'I don't want this taped,' were Ricky Compston's first words as he sat down in the makeshift interview room. Fettes, having been Lothian and Borders' HQ, had always been an admin base rather than a working police stationno cells, no IRs. Siobhan Clarke had borrowed some recording equipment and set it up on the table. But now Compston was folding his arms in a show of defiance. 'I'm running a covert operation,' he went on, 'and that could be put in jeopardy by the smallest leak.'

'You're not stopping the surveillance?' James Page asked. He had slipped out of his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, to show that he meant business. Paperwork was heaped in front of him, topped by crime scene photos and post-mortem shots of the victims.

'Not until the boss gives the word.' Compston turned his attention to Clarke. 'That machine goes on, I walkdon't say you weren't warned.'

'This is your idea of cooperation?' she shot back.

Compston fixed her with a stare. 'Joe Stark has just had a meeting with Darryl Christie. What happens next I can't tell you, because you've pulled my team in here, which is the last place they should be. So yes, DI Clarke, to answer your snotty little question, I'd say I'm cooperating.'

'Dennis Stark managed to get himself killed on your watch,' Clarke commented.

'Thanks, I hadn't noticed.'

'Beth Hastie had the surveillance on her ownis that standard practice?'

'Ideally she'd have had company.'

'Why didn't she?'

'Joe and his cronies had gone to Glasgow. I had to split the team. Left us a bit short.'

'But she wasn't outside the guest house when Dennis went for his stroll. His colleagues tell us it was something he often did.'

Compston nodded. 'Happened a couple of times,' he agreed.

'Yet Hastie still deserted her post? She didn't bother phoning to try and arrange cover?'

'It was the middle of the night. We were exhausted. Probably no one would have answered anyway.'

'But she didn't try,' Clarke persisted.

Compston looked from Clarke to Page and back again. 'Hell's going on here?' he demanded.

'A murder inquiry.'

'Gobby little thing, isn't she?' Compston said to Page.

'DI Clarke is a bit more than that, I think you'll find,' Page retorted.

Compston gave a theatrical sigh. 'We screwed up, and don't think we don't know it. I take full responsibility and have already told the Chief Constable as much.'

Clarke was tapping her pen lightly against a fresh pad of lined paper. 'How do you reckon Dennis Stark ended up dead?' she asked.

'A nine-mil bullet, if I'm not mistaken.'

'Did he just get unlucky, though? Goes for a stroll, ends up bumping into a stranger who shoots him? How likely is that?'

'Not very,' Compston conceded. 'One way or another, he was targeted.'

'One way or another?'

'Well, you've got this killer leaving notes next to his victims...'

'Actually, the victims usually receive the notes well beforehand. That was one mistake Stark's killer made.'

'Oh?'

'Not the same handwriting,' Page revealed.

'Copycat?' Compston mused.

'Someone with a grudge,' Clarke said, 'who thought they could make us think it was the same person who killed Lord Minton.'

'Which partly explains our interest in your team,' Page added. 'What would you say if I told you Detective Constable Hastie had lied to you?'

'I'd say I don't believe you.'

'She had to answer a call of nature, yes? At a nearby petrol station?'

Compston rolled his eyes. 'This is that sneaky fucker Fox, isn't it?'

'There are no all-night garages nearby,' Clarke went on.

'So?'

'And the ones that are open don't let customers use the loos.'

'I'm none the wiser.'

'Whoever followed Dennis Stark to that alley, they knew there was a chance he'd be out and about at that time, but they couldn't know the surveillance wasn't operational.' Clarke paused. 'Could they?'

Compston got her meaning and guffawed. 'You're saying we did it? After years of concerted operations to bring down the whole gang, my team suddenly decides on drastic action that'll result in anything but?' His eyes flitted between Clarke and Page. 'Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?'

'It's just a coincidence, then? Hastie does a vanishing act, Dennis goes for a walk, and the killer is waiting for him?'

'Makes a damn sight more sense than what you're suggesting.' Compston was getting to his feet. 'I've had more than enough of this. There's work waiting for me in the real world. I'll leave you to your unicorns and marshmallow skies.'

'We need to talk to Beth Hastie first,' Clarke stated.

'Why?'

'Because she doesn't seem to have been entirely truthful. That story she spun might have been for your benefit. Then again, maybe it was only meant for DI Fox. Maybe you already knew she wasn't going to be outside the guest house.'

Compston was shaking his head, but he gave another theatrical sigh. 'If Beth stays, can the rest of the team get back on duty?'

'I'd like you to wait behind,' Page said. 'We may have a couple more questions.'

'Absolute waste of time,' Compston muttered, which Clarke took as agreement.

A five-minute break between interviews, just long enough for a quick coffee and confab. They'd stuck Hastie in the room and confiscated her phone so she wouldn't have a chance to be briefed by her boss. Compston was in the waiting area, having given orders to his troops and dispatched them.

'Is this getting us anywhere?' Page asked. 'I'd hate to think we're rattling their cages just for the hell of it.'

Clarke offered a shrug.

'Fox has some sort of grievance, doesn't he? That smack on the face he got...'

'He may have a grievance, but he also has a point. The story he was given doesn't quite chime. Besides which, it makes perfect sense for us to want to question the team who supposedly had eyes and ears on the victim.'

'Fair enough.' But Page didn't sound wholly convinced. He drained his cardboard cup. 'Let's get back, then.'

Beth Hastie did not object to a recording being made. Clarke quickly realised that this was because she had come prepared with a script.

'I got bored and went for a drive, that's the truth of it. Thought half an hour wouldn't hurt and it would help me stay awake.'

'Where did you go?'

'Down to the waterfront, along the coast a little ways, then back.'

'And this just happened to coincide with Dennis Stark leaving the guest house?'

'That's right.'

'You can see that might look like an almighty coincidence?'

'I suppose. Doesn't mean it's not what happened, though.'

'Have you owned up to DI Compston?'

'I will, soon as I get out of here.'

'You knew Dennis had trouble sleeping? That he sometimes took a night-time walk?'

Hastie shook her head. 'Nobody'd mentioned it. That was my first time on the all-nighter.'

'Nobody'd mentioned it?' Clarke sounded disbelieving, but Hastie was shaking her head again to stress the point.

'Here's the thing I keep thinking, though,' she went on. 'If I had been there, I'd have followed him on foot. And if I'd done that...'

'You'd have maybe stopped the killing from happening?' Page guessed.

She stared at him. 'No,' she said. 'What I mean is, maybe he'd have had to shoot me too. Which is why I'm actually bloody relieved I took that drive. If I hadn't, I might be on a shelf in the mortuary, right next to Dennis Stark.'

She sat back in her chair, almost shivering at the thought.

Joe Stark arrived at Fettes with one of his own menWalter Grieveand one of Dennis's. It had been Grieve's idea to bring Dennis's lads into the foldlast thing they needed now was bad blood. Jackie Dyson had been chosen because he was the only one Joe hadn't had cause to bad-mouth or hand a slap to in the past. A relative newcomer, which, Grieve argued, meant he might be more approachable, 'if you get my drift'.

Yes, Joe knew these were delicate days. Dyson and the rest would be starting to wonder where their loyalties lay. Did they team up against the old order, or did they fall into line? He'd already given them a few quid to tide them over, promising them strengthened roles in the organisation. All the same, it didn't hurt to bring Dyson along, get to know him a bit better during the car ride, massage his ego. Then the punchline: 'If you want to see gratitude, son, I'll show it to you. You hear whispers or mutterings, you bring them to me. That's when you'll see me at my best.' Accompanied by a wink and a pat on the knee.

They parked in front of the main building and got out, Stark and Grieve in suits fit for a funeral, Dyson in scuffed denim and leather. As they reached the door, a couple emerged. Stark met the man's eyes but said nothing. But he watched as the pair headed towards their own car.

'That's Ricky Compston,' he told Grieve.

'Thought I knew him.'

'Who's Ricky Compston?' Dyson asked.

'Used to be Glasgow CID. Last I heard, he was being promoted to a desk at Gartcosh.' Halfway through the door, Stark stopped again. 'Gartcosh,' he muttered to himself. 'Serious and Organised Crime...'

'Are we wondering what he's doing across this side of the country?' Walter Grieve asked, without really needing an answer.

'Bastards are after us,' Stark stated, baring his teeth. 'Heard about Dennis and think we're vulnerable.' He exited the building again and cried out to the rapidly retreating figures. 'Hey! Compston!' The woman half turned but the man did not. Stark flicked the Vs anyway and stomped inside.

The civilian on the reception desk recognised him and tried to smile.

'We're here to see Page,' Stark demanded.

'Do you have an appointment?'