'My son's been murderedwhat good is a fucking appointment to me?'

The woman flushed. 'I think he's busy,' she eventually managed to say. But by then it was too late. Stark had walked around the desk and was making for the stairs beyond.

'You can't do that!' she said.

'He already has,' Dyson informed her, making to follow.

The group of three reached the first floor and asked the first person they saw where Page was.

'Next floor up.'

So that was where they went. Page was in the corridor ahead of them, talking to a woman weighed down by case notes.

'Page!' Stark snapped. 'I need to talk to you!'

'How did you get in?'

'Do we do it here, or somewhere a bit more private? Either's fine by me.'

Officers had appeared at the end of the corridor behind Stark and his men. They looked ready to intervene, but Page waved them away.

'My office,' he said to Stark. 'Just you and me, though.' He led the way through the incident room while the squad gawped from their desks, all except Charlie Sykes, who was busy composing a text on his phone. Grieve and Dyson looked set to linger in the outer office, but Clarke ushered them back into the corridor, closing the door on them.

'Charming,' Grieve said.

'I'm going for a piss,' Dyson told him. There was a toilet a few yards away, and he walked in. Just the two urinals and one cubicle. He unzipped and started whistling tunelessly, stopping when the door opened. The new arrival took the urinal next to him and uttered a greeting. Then the two men's eyes met.

'I know you,' Dyson said. 'Flattened you outside that pub... You're a cop?'

'What the hell are you doing here?' Malcolm Fox exclaimed, zipping himself up and taking a pace back towards the sink.

'Mr Stark has something he needs to get off his chest. Brought me along for company.'

'I saw Walter Grieve outside, but I never thought...'

'You seem to know all about us,' Dyson said slyly, finishing up and turning towards Fox. 'All I know about you is I almost broke your face. I'm wondering now why you didn't identify yourself as filth at the time. And also why I'm still on the streetyou didn't report it?'

He moved past Fox and started washing his hands.

'Compston didn't tell you about me?' Fox asked. 'I'm Malcolm Fox. Local liaison.'

'Compston? I heard that name outside just now. It's true, then? There's a team from Gartcosh over here to put the screws on us?'

'Look, I know who you are. You're Jackie Dyson. I mean, I know that's the name you're using-'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

'I'm talking about keeping in character. I can appreciate you have to, but-'

Dyson spun around from the sink and shoved Fox so hard he went through the unlocked cubicle door.

'Am I hearing you right?' he snarled. 'You saying the cops have got someone in our team?'

Fox swallowed. 'No,' he managed to say. 'That's not what I-'

But Dyson wasn't listening. Hands still dripping, he had hauled open the door to the corridor and was gone. Fox lowered himself on to the toilet seat. His heart was racing.

It's the right guy, he said to himself. It's got to be. Alec Bell told me as much... He broke off, swallowing hard. Could Alec Bell have lied?

Ricky Compston was pummelling the steering wheel with the heel of one hand as he drove.

'All that work, all that planning...'

'You really think we're screwed?'

'Reason I've been doing minimal stake-outs is that I'm the one person Joe might have clocked. Then we walk right into him.' He shook his head, anger fighting despair. 'And we should never even have been there in the first place! I blame Page, and above all I blame Malcolm Arsehole Fox.'

'Person you should really be blaming is me,' Hastie said quietly. There was silence in the car for a moment. Then Compston glanced at her.

'What did you tell them back there?'

'The truth.'

'Same as you told me?'

'Not quite. I went for a longer drive than I said. Needed to clear my head.'

'Christ's sake, Beth...'

'So what happens now?'

'We either wrap this up pronto or pack our bags and ride into the sunset.'

'I meant to me.'

'Dereliction of duty.' Compston looked at her again. She was grim-faced but not about to protest. 'I'm assuming that's the least of it?'

'Sir?'

'You didn't actually shoot Dennis Stark?'

'No.' Accompanied by a short bark of laughter.

'And you're not covering for Alec Bell?'

'I'm not sure I...'

'I know you think the sun shines out of Alec's rear end, and if he told you to do something, you'd probably never think to question it.' Compston paused. 'So did he tell you to bunk off that night?'

'Absolutely not. But what about you?'

'What about me?'

'I don't suppose you've a handy alibi?'

'Fuck you, DC Hastie. End of.'

'Nice to see none of us have lost our team spirit.'

Compston had gone from slapping the steering wheel to throttling it. 'You didn't just step over the line there, you paused to take a dump on it. Far as I'm concerned, that's thatyou're getting tossed back to your old duties.'

'For the record, sir, can I just say something?'

'If you must.'

'You're the worst, most useless, clueless boss I've ever hadand trust me, that puts you at the top of a really long list.'

25.

They sat in Rebus's living room, Cafferty sucking on a bottle of beer. Rebus stuck to instant coffee. He wanted the clearest of heads, while Cafferty looked in a mood to move on to whisky once he'd finished his aperitif.

'Acorn House,' Rebus nudged. 'A secure environment for toerags and scumbags up to the age ofwhat? Sixteen?'

'They were different times. People's definition of what was acceptable...' Cafferty was staring at the carpet. 'You've seen it recently: all those stories about celebrities back in the day and politicians who thought it was perfectly fine to rub shoulders with paedos.'

'Christ almighty...'

Cafferty met Rebus's stare. 'Not me! Hell's teeth, credit me with that at least!'

'Okay, you weren't fiddling with the kids at Acorn House.' Rebus paused. 'But somebody was? Michael Tolland?'

'Far as I know, Tolland was just the guy with the keys. He kept his eye on comings and goings. The place had a reputation. The kids would leg it, cars waiting for them outside. They'd be back next day wearing new clothes, money in their pockets.'

Rebus was trying to remember if there had been whispers at the time. Maybesomewhere above his pay grade...

'They closed the place before it ever got to an inquiry,' Cafferty went on.

'Are we talking about something specific? Something involving your pals Jeffries and Ritter?'

'I wasn't quite the biggest player in the city back thenI'm talking 1985but I was making my move...' The man seemed lost in memories. He sat on the edge of the sofa, legs splayed, elbows on knees, one mitt wrapped around the beer bottle. 'There was that no-man's-land, that sort of grey area where people like me got to know the movers and shakers.'

'People like David Minton?'

Cafferty shook his head. 'I never knew Minton. But he was friends with an MP called Howard Champ. Remember him?'

'I know the name. Died a few years back.'

'I only knew him vaguely. Then one night I get a phone call. There's been an incidentI think the word used was "accident".'

'At Acorn House?'

'In one of the bedrooms. And now there's a dead kid complicating the situation.'

Rebus found he was holding his breath as he listened.

'Something had gone wrong. A lad in his early teens had expired.'

'Howard Champ phoned you?'

'He got someone else to do it,' Cafferty corrected him. 'I'm guessing that was Tolland, though I didn't know his name back then.'

'Did he say what had happened?'

'Just that Howard Champ needed my help.'

'You went to Acorn House?'

'No way I was setting foot in that place!'

'So you sent a couple of your menJeffries and Ritter?'

Cafferty nodded slowly.

'And they dealt with the problem?' Rebus could hear the blood pounding in his ears as he spoke. 'How did they do that?'

'Took the body away.'

'Away where?'

'Some woods near where they'd grown up.'

Rebus thought for a moment. 'No repercussions?'

'Kids went AWOL all the time. This one had no family to speak of, just an overstretched social worker who ended up getting a holiday cruise and a new kitchen.'

'He had a name though, right, the lad who died?'

'I never heard it.'

Rebus exhaled loudly, then got to his feet, leaving the room for a minute. He returned with two glasses of malt. Cafferty took one with a nod of thanks. Rebus walked to the window and stared out at the silent, well-ordered world.