'The company that does the flyering...'

'Higher Flyer,' Esson reminded Clarke.

'Higher Flyer, yesdo they do any work in and around Linlithgow?'

'Strictly Edinburgh and Glasgow. They actually don't have many restaurants on their books. Mostly they do comedy shows and that sort of thingstocking pubs and clubs with flyers. They would certainly cover the areas where Minton and Cafferty live, but it would depend on the client. Newington Spice specified the local neighbourhood.'

'Most of the people doing the flyering are students,' Ogilvie chipped in.

'Our guy would be in his forties,' Clarke commented. Her eyes drifted towards the closed door of James Page's office. 'Always supposing John's theory is correct.'

'What's he doing in there?' Esson asked, nodding towards the door.

'Trying to persuade DCI Page that a retired detective, now a civilian, should become bait for an armed serial killer.'

'Not going to happen, is it?'

Clarke stared at Esson. 'John can be quite persuasive.'

'As I've found to my cost. It would be nice now and again to go on a wild goose chase that actually had a goose at the end of it.'

'Wild or otherwise,' Ogilvie added.

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose. 'What about VampPrint?' she asked.

'They do have a storage facility for everything they print,' Esson answered, 'but in the case of Newington Spice, all their stock went either to Higher Flyer or to the restaurant itself. That's not to say someone on the staff couldn't have helped themselves, and again we'll run all the employee names through the system.'

'One thing we do know is that no one with the surname Holroyd works for either firm,' Ogilvie stated. Esson was about to add something, but broke off as the door to Page's office opened. Rebus marched past Clarke's desk without saying anything or making eye contact. The door remained open, and a few moments later Page was standing there, indicating that Clarke should join him. She headed in, closing the door again after her. Page was back behind his desk, twisting a pen in both hands.

'At least there were no raised voices,' she commented. 'John must be disappointed, though...' She saw the look on Page's face. 'You gave him the okay?'

'With the proviso that members of our team will be nearby, as well as two firearms officers. As John says, he's been on top of this throughout, putting our own efforts to shame in certain respects.'

Clarke bristled. 'I'm not sure that's entirely fair.'

'Me neither. On the other hand, we'd have known nothing about Acorn House if John hadn't told us.'

'How much did he tell you, sir?'

'Men in positions of authority abusing kids, the whole thing covered up, one young lad thought to be dead after some sex game or other...' Page gave a pained look. 'Bloody horrible to contemplate, every single bit of it.'

'I agree.'

'And after this is over, we need to make sure something's donethe Chief has to be amenable to an inquiry of some kind.'

'An inquiry flagging up one of our own as a paedophile?'

Page gave another grimace. 'What's the alternative?'

'I'm fairly sure the Chief will present you with some.'

'Sweep everything back under the carpet, you mean? The world's changed, Siobhan. This'll get out there one way or another.'

'Well, if we need a friendly crime reporter...'

'Your chum Laura Smith? Maybe it'll come to that. Not that the media seemed to do much of anything last time round.'

'One or two tried.' Clarke shrugged.

Page was thoughtful, eyes on his pen as he played with it. 'I need to authorise the firearms.'

'Yes, sir. I'll let you get on with it.' She turned to leave.

'You'll be there too, of courseJohn more or less insisted.'

Clarke paused in the doorway, turned and nodded her acceptance, then headed back into the main office.

Rebus was there, talking with Esson and Ogilvie. His eyes met Clarke's, and he gave a wink as he grinned.

Rebus had stocked up on suppliesa couple of sandwiches, newspaper, several CDs to pass the time. But it turned out he couldn't work the hi-fiit didn't have a CD slot, for one thing. There was a remote, and when he pressed it, music emerged from speakers in the corners of the ceiling, but it was nothing he wanted to listen to. Even the dog looked unimpressed. The terrier had been wary at first, especially after picking up the scent of another canine. The Dalrymples had taken basket and John B both, along with food and water bowls. But Rebus had found some dry stuff in a cupboard and tipped a helping into a soup bowl, placing it on the kitchen floor for the terrier. It had been quite the reunion when he had arrived at the cat and dog home.

'We've been calling him Brillo,' one of the staff had explained, bringing the dog into the reception area. Recognising Rebus, Brillo had strained at the leash. 'You sure you only need him for a day or two?'

'That's right,' Rebus had said, avoiding the staff member's eyes.

He got up every ten minutes or so and looked out of the window. It was just before ten, and he'd been there almost four hours. The unmarked car was not quite directly outsidethey didn't want to scare Holroyd away. Two officers in the car, though they hadn't been especially keen when told they might be pulling an all-nighter. Rebus took out his mobile and checked it. The officers had his number and he had theirs. First sign of anything, either they would call or he would. Esson and Ogilvie were out there somewhere too, traipsing the neighbouring streets in the guise of lovers on their way home. Esson had already sent one text to complain of impending blisters, to which Rebus had responded that she should get a piggyback from her colleague.

With no bed, Brillo had settled on the sofa, but every time Rebus moved, he looked interested, in case a walk was in the offing.

'Sorry, pal,' Rebus said, not for the first time.

He climbed the stairs and used the loo, then walked into the spare bedroom. Siobhan Clarke lay stretched out on the narrow single bed, reading a book by the light of a bedside lamp.

'I hope you put the seat down this time,' she admonished him.

'This is why I never remarried.'

She smiled tiredly. 'Get any pictures while you were up north?'

'No.'

'Some grandfather you are.'

'Sam took one of me and Carriemaybe she'll email it.'

'She will if you ask her.'

Rebus nodded. 'What's the book?'

'He said, changing the subject. It's Kate Atkinson.'

'Any good?'

'Someone keeps coming back from the dead.'

'Not a bad fit for this evening, then.'

'I suppose. You really think he'll come?'

'Maybe not tonight.'

'Know the grief we're going to get if we need to keep requisitioning those gun-slingers?'

'Cheery pair, though, weren't they?'

'Rays of sunshine.' She smiled again.

'I should go downstairs.'

'I keep thinking of Little Red Riding Hood. You're the wolf dressed as Grandma.'

'I don't remember Red Riding Hood killing anyone, though.'

'Fair point. Stick the kettle on then, Grandma.'

Rebus headed to the kitchen, where Brillo was waiting, ever hopeful. He gave the dog a pat and filled the kettle. He looked at the kitchen door. It led, he knew, to a well-tended garden with the usual area of decking. There was a security light above the back door, but the bulb had given up and not been replaced. That was fine by Rebus. He opened the door and breathed the night air. He couldn't quite smell or hear the sea, and there was too much light pollution for any but the brightest stars to be visible. He remembered the drive south from Tongue to Inverness, the road winding and narrow at first, and not another vehicle for tens of miles. The sky had been studded with stars, and he'd seen one owl and several deer along the route, none of which had meant very much to himhe'd still been busy with thoughts of Carrie.

Brillo had headed into the garden to do his business, so Rebus left the door ajar while he poured the tea. He took one mug upstairs, and Brillo was in the kitchen on his return, fretting over his absence.

'Here I am,' Rebus said, closing the back door and leaving it unlocked. No point complicating things unnecessarily.

Fox was in his car when Clarke rang.

'Hiya,' he said.

'Hope I didn't disturb you.'

'I'm outside the hospital,' he lied. 'Just about to head home.'

'How's Mitch?'

'Pretty bad. Jude phoned to tell me they were readying to pull the plug. She was exaggerating, but not by much. They're talking about a "persistent vegetative state".'

'Bit soon for that, isn't it? You sure you're okay to drive home?'

'I'll be fine. Are you at the flat?'

'I'm in the lavender-scented spare room of a Mr and Mrs Dalrymple.'

'Do Mr and Mrs Dalrymple know?'

Clarke explained the situation to him. 'John's downstairs filling the condemned man's shoes, and we've a couple of sharpshooters outside.'

'John's a civilian.'

'Try telling him that. He convinced James Page that this was the only game plan worth the name... Hang on, I've got a text I need to check... Shit, got to go.'

The phone went dead in Fox's hand. He placed it on the passenger seat and popped a fresh piece of gum into his mouth. He was parked on the road leading into the high-rise estate, halfway between Anthony Wright's home and the lock-up. There was no sign of life and the temperature was dropping. He was glad Siobhan hadn't dug too deepthis was his case and no one else's. Not just because of Compston, Bell and Hastie, but for his father, too, who had always thought him better suited to an office than the street. Yet here he was, watching and waiting.

'My score,' he said quietly to himself.

And a few scores to settle as well.

Rebus took the call from the firearms duo.

'Someone's coming. Big guy, looks like he means business.'

'You only step in when you get the word,' Rebus reminded them, ending the call. The doorbell rang and he went into the hall. Clarke was already halfway down the stairs, but he shooed her away. Only when she had disappeared from sight did he open the door.

'Hell are you up to?' he asked.

'I decided I've got the right,' Cafferty said, barging his way in.

'The right to screw this whole thing up?' Rebus snarled, slamming shut the door and pursuing Cafferty into the living room. 'Holroyd knows what you look likehe saw you through your nice big bay window, remember?'

'So?'

'So when he sees you here...'

'He's going to think all his Christmases have come a bit late this year.'

'Forget about it,' Rebus said. His phone was ringing. He answered. 'Very much a false alarm,' he informed the firearms officer.

'What's he doing here?' Clarke asked, joining the party.

'Says he has the right,' Rebus explained.

'You need to leave,' Clarke told Cafferty. 'You are jeopardising this inquiry.'

'I am this inquiry!' Cafferty spat. 'I'm the one who's been in jeopardy.'

'Which is precisely why you can't be here. Say a shot goes off and you get hit...' Clarke was shaking her head.

'I need to see him.'

'And so you willat his trial. But that only happens if we snare him, and you being here makes that impossible. You either leave right now, or I'm pulling my team out.'

Clarke was standing only inches from him, half a foot shorter but not about to falter. Cafferty was breathing heavily, a man locked and loaded. But Rebus watched as he started to calm.