'I'm not sure Dennis would have missed. He'll have had a bit of practice down the years.'

'So it was a warning of some kind, somebody trying to put the wind up Cafferty. You have to admit, it's odd how this happens the day after the Starks hit town.'

'There is that,' Rebus conceded. 'But say we mention as much to Cafferty...'

'Yes?'

'Well, he might want to explore the possibility.'

'He might,' Fox agreed.

'And that could get ugly.'

Fox was nodding slowly as Rebus chewed on another mouthful of food. When the chewing stopped, replaced by a widening smile, Fox knew he'd done his job.

Lunchtime, and the Golden Rule was almost empty. The main bar was connected by a set of steps to a larger seated area that boasted another bar, only open when the place got busy. They had this room to themselves. Cafferty looked comfortable, seated at a corner table well away from the window. He had a double whisky in front of him. Rebus carried a pint through, while Fox, a couple of steps behind him, brought nothing at all.

'Malcolm Fox, isn't it?' Cafferty reached out a hand, which Fox shook. 'Out of the Complaints these days, I hear. I suppose with John heading into the wilderness, you felt the job had lost any sense of challenge.' He toasted both men and took a sip from his glass.

'Thanks for agreeing to meet me,' Fox said.

'It's not you I'm meeting, sonit's your ex-colleague. Always worth finding out what's going on in that head of his.'

'Be that as it may...'

Cafferty was flapping one hand, signalling for Fox to stop. There was silence around the table, broken only by the sounds of the TV from the distant bar. Eventually Rebus put down his glass and spoke.

'A shot was fired at you last nightwe all know it. Most of your obvious enemies are long gone-'

'Present company excepted,' Cafferty interrupted, making another toast.

'But then DI Fox discovers that Joe Stark is in town, along with his son.'

'They've not sectioned Dennis yet?' Cafferty feigned surprise.

'We're wondering if there's any possible connection,' Rebus continued. 'I've spent half the night turning it over, and I'm not coming up with more than two or three names.'

'Ah, now you've got me interested. What names?'

'Billy Jones.

'Living in Florida, as far as I know.'

'Eck Hendry.'

'Went to stay with his daughter in Australia. I think he suffered a stroke a couple of months back.'

'Darryl Christie.'

Cafferty's lips formed an O. 'Ah, young Darryl.'

'Your protege back in the day.'

'Never that. Darryl's always been his own man. Doing well too, I hear. Business expanding, never a blemish on his character.' His eyes met Rebus's. 'Almost as if he had the law on his side.'

'Maybe he's just always been that bit cannier than you.'

'That must be it,' Cafferty pretended to agree. 'But I doubt he sees me as any sort of threat to his various interests, not these days.'

'You don't sound a hundred per cent sure,' Fox couldn't help interrupting.

'We live in uncertain times. Not six months ago, we thought we were soon going to be an independent country.'

'We still might be.'

'And wouldn't that be a grand scheme?' Cafferty smiled behind his glass and tipped it to his mouth.

'Thing you need to know about Big Ger,' Rebus began for Fox's benefit, 'is that if he seems to be offering you something, there's a game being played. He doesn't rule out Darryl Christie, maybe in the hope we'll go looking at Darryl and turn up somethingsomething advantageous to Big Ger himself.'

Cafferty winked at Fox. 'It's like he knows me better than I know myselfsaves me a fortune in therapy.' Then, turning his attention back to Rebus: 'But you've got me intriguedwhy is Joe Stark here?'

'Whatever it is, he's obviously not sharing it with you.'

'That son of his will be in charge of things soon. Maybe Joe's introducing him to society.'

'It's a theory,' Rebus acknowledged.

'Everything is, until there's proof. Will you go ask Darryl?'

Rebus met Cafferty's stare. 'You forgetting I'm retired?'

'What do you think, DI Fox? Does Rebus here act like someone on the scrapheap? He will talk to Darryl, you know. Him and Darryl are old palsdidn't you do one another a favour not so long back?'

'Don't believe all the stories,' Rebus advised. He got to his feet, pulling his coat around him.

'Not finishing your drink?' Cafferty gestured towards the half-full pint. 'I suppose there's a first time for everything.' Then, stretching out his hand again, 'Nice to see you, DI Fox. Say hello to the fragrant Siobhan for me. And be sure to tell her you're hanging on to Rebus's coat-tails. She might well have some sage advice on the subject.' He gave a little chuckle, which only intensified when Fox snubbed the handshake and instead began following Rebus towards the exit.

6.

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes shut. For almost three hours she had been reading about David Mintonhis upbringing, education, career in the law, failed attempt to become a Conservative MP, and eventual peerage. As Lord Advocate, he had been able to speak in the Scottish Parliament, though the current administration had changed the role so that Lords Advocate no longer attended cabinet meetings. Minton's closest colleague had been the Crown Agent, Kathryn Young. Young was putting pressure on Page and his team, phoning four times and turning up unannounced twice. Same went for the Solicitor General, who at least had one of her flunkeys act as inquisitoreasier to dismiss than the actual Crown Agent.

Clarke had thought she knew a bit about the legal professionin her line of work, she spent a good deal of time with lawyers from the Procurator Fiscal's department. But this was above her pay-scale and she was having trouble clarifying the role of the Lord Advocate. He was of the government but not in the government. He was in charge of the prosecution service, but his role as chief legal adviser to the government of the day made for complications in the form of potential conflicts of interest. Post-devolution, the position of Lord Advocate no longer came with the sinecure of a life peerage, but Minton's appointment had pre-dated the opening of the Scottish Parliament. He was unusual in one respect, having decided against becoming a judge after his role as Lord Advocate ended, something he shared with only one other colleague, Lord Fraser of Carmyllie.

And hang on, what did the Solicitor General do again?

Then there was the Advocate General for Scotland, who advised the UK government on matters of Scots law. He was based in London but had an office in Edinburghand there had been phone calls from both to add to the mix. The procurator fiscal (actually a fiscal depute) attached to the Minton case was called Shona MacBryer. Clarke had worked with her before and liked her a lot. She was sharp, thorough, but relaxed enough so you could joke with her. She'd been in to see Page several times, but Clarke hadn't as yet slumped to her knees and begged for a two-line explanation of the Scottish legal hierarchy. No detective wanted a lawyer to think they were more stupid than most lawyers already considered them to be.

With nothing better to do, Clarke wandered along to the cafeteriaone thing about Fettes, it at least had a cafeteriaand settled at a table with a mug of tea and a Twix. She was remembering that Malcolm Fox had been based here throughout his time in Professional Standards. She wasn't sure he had found his feet yet in CID. He was a nice guy, maybe too nice. Visited his dad in the nursing home most weekends, and phoned his sister from time to time in failed attempts to mend fences. Clarke liked hanging out with himit wasn't that she thought him a charity case. She'd told him as much a few weeks back. His response'Absolutely, and don't think I see you as one either'had caused her to bristle, saying nothing for the rest of the DVD they'd been watching. Later that night she had stared at her reflection in her bathroom mirror.

'Cheeky sod,' she'd said out loud. 'I'm a catch.'

And she'd punched her pillows a few times for good measure before settling down to sleep.

'Mind if I join you?'

She looked up to see James Page standing there, coffee mug in hand.

'Of course not,' she said.

'You looked like you were thinking great things.'

'Always.'

He took a slurp from his mug. 'Are we making headway?' he asked.

'We're doing what we can. Every housebreaker in the city is under ordersif they give us a name, they'll have a friend when they next need one.'

'So far to no effect.'

'X snitches on Y, Y on Z, and Z on X.'

'In other words, you're not hopeful.'

'Hopeful, no; curious, yes.'

'Go on.' Another slurp of coffee. The few dates they'd gone onsome time backhe had done the same thing, whether the drink was hot, tepid or cold. She'd asked him to stop, but he had seemed incapable, and couldn't see the problem.

'First you have to put that mug down until I've left the table.'

He tried staring her out, then complied.

'To begin with,' Clarke went on, 'we shied away from Minton's private life. Break-in gone wrong, we thought. But the note changes that. The deceased did something to annoy someone.'

'Probably in his professional rather than private life,' Page cautioned.

'Which is why you've got Esson and Ogilvie digging back through several years' worth of cases and judgments. Thing is, it would have to have been a really big case, right? For someone to decide that the perceived injustice merited a death threat. And also, wouldn't it need to be something recent, or else why are they suddenly so riled?'

'Maybe they just got out of jail.'

'And again, you've got someone checking the files. But we may be looking at this whole thing the wrong way. From what I've discovered about Lord Minton, he's almost too perfect. Everyone's got secrets.'

'We've examined his house, been through the contents of his personal and work computers. No weird or accusatory emails. His office say they've received no letters out of the ordinary. I've askedeven if the mail was marked Private or Personal, they were instructed by Lord Minton to open it. No phone callswe've checked his home number and mobile. There's nothing there, Siobhan.'

'What are we talking about then? A case of mistaken identity? Note sent to the wrong person, window of the wrong house's laundry room broken?' She couldn't help thinking about the previous night at Cafferty's. 'He hung on to the note, James. More than that, he kept it close to him. To my mind, he knew it meant something.'

'Why didn't he tell anyone, then?'

'I don't know.' She ran a hand through her hair. 'Maybe we need to talk to his friends again, starting with the closest.'

'That would be Kathryn Young, wouldn't it?'

'From what I hear.'

Page sat in silence for a moment. 'I'm still not convinced, Siobhan. The attacker broke init's not as if Minton opened the door to someone he knew.'

'Front door's dangerous, thoughwhole streetful of potential witnesses.'

'But to clamber over walls, sneak through back gardens...'

'I doubt we're looking for someone of the victim's generation, though you never can tell.'

Page gave a loud sigh. 'Can I drink my coffee now?'

Clarke smiled, rising from her seat. 'I'll see you upstairs,' she said.

There was a Starbuck's on Canongate, and Kathryn Young had agreed to meet them there. She had a forty-minute window between meetings at the Scottish Parliament, so she placed her order with Clarke by text. The tables were small and fairly public, but Page had done his best. They were in an alcove near the back of the room, and he reckoned the regular noises of milk being frothed and beans being ground would mask their conversation from the other customers.

Young carried with her a heavy-looking satchel. It made one of Scotland's most senior lawyers resemble a teacher encumbered by a week's unmarked homework. She was well-dressed, but the wind howling down towards the Parliament had messed up her shoulder-length brown hair and put a glow in her cheeks.

'Small latte,' Clarke said, pushing the mug towards her. Young nodded her thanks and removed her coat and scarf.

'Any news?' she said.

'There's something we'd like to share with you,' Page said quietly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands pressed together as if in prayer. 'We've been debating motive.'

'I thought it was a straightforward housebreaking.'

'So did we, until we found this.' He gestured towards Clarke, who handed over a photocopy of the note. Young's brow furrowed as she read.

'Someone sent it to Lord Minton,' Clarke explained, 'and Lord Minton kept it in his wallet. To my mind, that means he didn't just dismiss it as some kind of prank. We're wondering who his enemies might have been.'

'I'm at a loss.' Young handed the note back. 'You've not made this public?'

'We didn't see how it could helpnot just yet,' Page explained.

'You knew the man as well as anybody,' Clarke said, making eye contact and noting that Young's eyes were the same shade of brown as her hair. 'So we're wondering if you can shed any light. Did he ever mention anything about threats, or someone who had a grudge against him, real or perceived?'

The Crown Agent was shaking her head. 'We weren't close in that way. I'd known David maybe twelve or thirteen years. But his real friendsthe ones he spoke aboutthey're mostly dead, I think. Other lawyers, at least one MP, businessmen...' She was shaking her head again. 'I'm sorry, but I really can't think of anyone who'd want to harm him.'

'Maybe a case he'd prosecuted?' Clarke persisted.