'I really don't know if I can do this.'

'Go easy on yourself, Malcolmyour dad's just died. Of course you're feeling low. You need to focus on the funeral now. Give it a week or two before you decide to chuck in a job you're just starting to get good at.'

'Aye, maybe.' Fox expelled air loudly. 'Are you at home?'

'Where else?'

'Finally got a suspect for the Minton murder, I hear.'

'City's locked down tight. He won't be going anywhere.' Rebus paused. 'I better let you gosorry again about your dad.'

'Thanks.'

'Anything I can do, you only have to say. We'll have a bit of a wake, see how you're feeling by then.' Rebus turned his head towards the open doorway. Jordan Foyle was standing there, a crowbar in his hand. 'Talk to you later,' Rebus said, ending the call. Brillo had woken up and was taking an interest in the new arrival.

'You're not Dalrymple,' Foyle said, taking a couple of steps into the room. He was wearing a thin cotton camouflage jacket over a hooded sweatshirt.

'Not brought the gun?' Rebus commented.

'Who are you?' Foyle was standing in front of him, half brandishing the crowbar. Rebus rested his hands on the arms of his chair, presenting no threat whatsoever. 'Haven't I seen you at the mortuary? You're the guy Professor Quant goes out with.'

Rebus acknowledged the fact with a slight bow of the head. 'My name's John Rebus. I've been looking into Acorn House. Your father changed his name from Bryan Holroyd, didn't he?'

Foyle's eyes widened slightly. 'How do you know?'

'More to the point, son, how do you?'

'Where's Dalrymple?'

'It's finished, Jordan. What we need now is an inquiry into Acorn House. For that to happen, we need at least one of the abusers able to testifymeaning alive. You were in Afghanistan, weren't you? I served in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. It never quite goes awayyou change and you stay changed. I'm not saying I know what you've been through...' Rebus broke off. 'Look, why don't you sit yourself down? You seem about ready to keel over. It's a cold night to be on the run, but you're safe enough here. There's a sandwich on the kitchen table and a couple of cans of Irn-Bru. Feel free to help yourself.'

'Who are you?'

'I used to be a cop. I've known Big Ger Cafferty for years. He wanted me to help find whoever fired that shot.'

'Can't believe I missed.'

'Minton got the gun on the black marketsighting's probably wonky. Fact he bought it at all means he took your note seriously. Cafferty's a bit more used to threats, so he dismissed it at first. Did Michael Tolland get one too?' Rebus watched the young man nod. 'Must have tossed it then, because we never found it. Took the inquiry a while to link the cases because of that.'

'You know I'm still going to have to kill you?'

'No you're not. You're going to take the weight off your feet and tell me the whole story. Unless you want a drink first.'

The young man stood there, Rebus allowing the silence to linger as calculations were made. 'I need to fetch my backpack,' Foyle said eventually.

'Where is it?'

'The garden.'

'Is the gun in it?'

Foyle nodded. 'But that's not what I need.'

'What then?'

'It's not my story you need to hearit's my dad's.'

'And that's in the backpack?' Rebus watched the young man nod. 'On you go then,' he said.

'You're coming with meso you don't try calling anybody. In fact, give me your phone.' Foyle stretched out his free hand and Rebus placed the phone in it. Then he rose slowly to his feet and preceded Foyle into the kitchen and the garden beyond. With the backpack retrieved, they headed back indoors, Rebus suggesting that Foyle could maybe dispense with the crowbar.

'I don't think so,' Foyle said.

'There are armed officers all across the city, Jordan. They see you brandishing anything more solid than a white hankie, they're going to take you down. There were even a couple of them here last night, lying in wait.'

Foyle couldn't help himself. He swivelled towards the window, peering through the gap in the curtains.

'They're not there now,' Rebus assured him. 'Nobody thought you'd be coming. Nobody but me. That's why I left the door unlocked.'

After a further check of the street outside, Foyle settled on the edge of the sofa. As he undid the backpack's straps, he studied Brillo.

'Your dog?' he asked.

'Sort of.'

'I was never allowed a pet. Dad wouldn't let me.'

'I spoke with your motherhe seems to have been a piece of work.'

'That's why he wrote the journala sort of apology, I suppose.'

'Your mum doesn't know about it?'

Foyle shook his head. 'He handed it to me one night, told me to keep it to myself. He knew he was ill by then...' He broke off. 'Easier if you see for yourself.' He got up off the sofa and crossed the room towards Rebus, handing over a moleskin notebook, held closed by an elasticated cloth band. 'I'll maybe go get that sandwich,' the young man said, leaving the room.

Rebus unhooked the band and began to read.

The first thing I need you to know, Jordan, is that I wasn't born Mark Foyle. Mark was a lad I got to know when I was sleeping rough in London. He was an addict and one winter he just passed away. Similar age to me and he still had a National Insurance card, so it was easy enough to take his identity. Up till then I'd been Bryan Holroyd. That's the name I was born with. My real birthday's exactly a month before you think it is. Not that I'll be having any more birthdays. I've not said anything to your mum but I've been seeing doctors and it doesn't look goodthere's an operation I could have but I don't want it. When it's time, it's time. I've cheated death once, and once was probably enough. I was hanging around in a cafe before one of the consultations, thinking the usual morbid thoughts, when the song came on. At first I couldn't think where I'd heard it, then I remembered. I opened Shazam on my phone and got a match'Even Dogs in the Wild'. It's by a group called the Associates. Turns out they're Scottish. It had been playing that night, as they drove me out to a forest in Fife to bury me. It all came flooding back then, and I felt suddenly really shitty about the way I'd treated you. I couldn't bring myself to love you. I just couldn't. Maybe after reading this you'll understand why...

Rebus broke off and watched as Jordan Foyle resumed his perch, the club sandwich in one hand and an open can in the other. The young man chewed, saying nothing, his eyes on Rebus's. Rebus lowered his own eyes and took up the story again.

For a while I was worried I must be gay. I mean, I didn't feel gay, but I'd had sex with a man, so did that make me gay? When Denise showed an interest, I tried putting her off, but you know your mumshe's nothing if not persistent! And later on, when I would wake up sobbing, she'd calm me down. She knew there was something I wasn't telling her, but she said I'd confide in her when I was good and ready. That day's never come. Maybe you'll show her this and maybe you won'tyour decision. She was the love of my lifeshe probably saved my lifeand that's the truth. Then she got pregnant and out you popped. And I was cold towards you from the start. I wanted to shut you away from the world, from all the predators out there. I even feared I might turn out to be one myself. So I pushed you away and I know that hurt youit won't be any consolation that it hurt me too...

'First few pages are mostly family,' Jordan Foyle stated, slurping from the can. 'Bit that might interest you is further on.'

Rebus turned some pages until he saw names he recognised and started to read again.

They'd been drinking and doing drugs, and forcing them on me too. Anything to deaden the thoughts and feelings. These were men with gross appetites and nothing to stop them indulging those appetites to the full. Me and the other kids weren't going to be listened to. We were the dregs. David was David Minton, a bigwig lawyerfor years I felt queasy if I ever saw him in a newspaper or on TV. His pal was an MP called Howard Champ. Jimmy was James Broadfoot, and believe it or not, he was Chief Constable in the city. See? These are the kind of men they werepowerful and full of themselves. Todd Dalrymple mostly liked to watch, or just hang out with these bastards. I think he owned a casino in the city. Mickey Tolland worked at Acorn Houseeveryone based there knew what went on, but he was the one doing the organising. And guess what? He won the bloody lottery a few years backI had to switch the news off when they showed his stupid grinning face. Married, too. Happy as a pig in shit. Pricks and bastards, the lot of them.

It was Champ who throttled me. That was his thing. But instead of going along with it, I keeled over and pretended I was convulsing. Then I went stock still and held my breath. Thought I was going to be rumbled when someone checked my pulse, but they were so out of it and panicky, they obviously didn't do it right. A man called Cafferty was mentioned. He'd sort it out. By which they meant get rid of my body. So these two men arrived. By that time, I'd been wrapped up in the sheet I was lying on, which was fine by meI could breathe a bit without them noticing. They threw me into the boot of their car and that was that. Their names were Paul and Dave, but that's all I know. And they had the radio on. No, actually it was a tape, because one of them ejected ithe didn't like the song. The same song I heard in that cafe'Even Dogs in the Wild'. I listened to it and couldn't believe the words. It was almost as if they'd been written for me. I decided there and then to buy this diary and write in it, something for you to have while I'm still alive.

Rebus looked up again. Lured by the sandwich, Brillo was sitting on the floor at Foyle's feet. Foyle was feeding him morsels of chicken and bacon and rubbing his coat at the same time.

'Did you talk to him?' Rebus asked.

'He only gave it to me the night before he died. But that morning, I gave him a hug in the upstairs hall. We weren't great at talking. And all because of what happened in that place. His life ruined, my relationship with him ruinedbecause of those fuckers.' Foyle nodded towards the book. 'He ran for his life and lay shivering in those woods all night, covered with leaves and whatever else he could scoop up. Then he stole clothes and money from a house and got as far away as he could. London for a while, then Glasgowthat's where he met Mum.' He paused. 'Did you mean what you said about an inquiry?'

'Yes.'

'Would it do any good?'

'It might take down a few reputations.'

'And meanwhile I'll be doing time for murder?'

'You'll plead diminished responsibility. Throw post-traumatic stress into the mix and you should be fine.'

'Meaning?'

'You'll serve a few years, but not many.'

'If I turn myself in.'

'What else are you going to dorun away to London?'

'That man Caffertyhe'll put a price on my head.'

'No he won't. He wanted your dad found so he could say sorry to him. My guess is, the same apology's coming to you.'

'Even though I tried to kill him?'

'Even so,' Rebus confirmed.

Foyle turned his head towards the backpack sitting next to him on the sofa. 'I was seriously thinking about blowing my brains outafter I'd settled with Dalrymple.'

'You shouldn't do that,' Rebus said quietly. Then: 'Any chance I can have my phone back?'

Foyle's eyes narrowed. 'Why?'

'I want to see if I can get on the internet. There's a song I really need to hear.'

Foyle considered for a moment, then handed the phone over. But before he did anything, Rebus skipped to the end of the journal, reading Bryan Holroyd's last words.

I never did love you, son. I wouldn't let myself, and that goes with me to my grave. I wish I could change the past, but I can't. All I can offer you is this story. I've been so proud of you, and I hated what your time as a squaddie did to you. We're none of us machines, Jordan, though sometimes that's the way the world treats us. Look after your mum and look after yourself. And don't go getting any more of those bloody tattoos.

Silent tears were running down Jordan Foyle's cheeks as he lifted Brillo up, burying his face in his fur.

Epilogue.

The mourners at Mortonhall Crematorium just about filled the smaller of the two chapels. Fox and his sister shared the front pew, with staff and residents from Mitch Fox's care home in the others and Rebus and Clarke by themselves at the back. The order of service had a photo of the deceased on the front, smiling at whoever had been holding the camera and probably taken two or three decades back.

'He looks like Malcolm,' Rebus observed to Clarke.

'Apparently Jude takes after their mum,' Clarke whispered back.

The service was brief, just the two hymns and some biographical details from the minister, along with a prayer. Neither Fox nor his sister got up to speak. Everyone stood as the minister led them back out into the sunshine, where a few wreaths lay. Rebus shook Jude's hand and introduced himself as 'a friend of Malcolm's'. Another handshake from Fox himself.

'Are you coming to the hotel?' Fox asked.

Rebus shook his head. 'Things to doyou know what it's like.'

'I'm coming,' Clarke interrupted, giving Fox a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

'We're rendezvousing at the Ox later, though?' Fox checked.

'Try and stop me,' Rebus said, digging into his pocket for his cigarettes before heading for the car park. The day was bright, the sun low, casting long shadows. He'd had to scrape ice from the Saab using the edge of a credit card, a move he regretted when the card snapped in two. He would call into his bank on the way home and let them know. Or maybe it could wait until tomorrow.

There was a figure in black standing by the carCafferty, in a three-quarter-length coat, its collar turned up.

'I still want to speak to the lad,' he said.

'He already knows what you'll say.'

'Even so.'

Rebus offered a shrug and tapped on the car window. Brillo was seated inside, waiting impatiently. 'I've asked Page and he's said no. You can always visit Jordan in jail.'

'If I live that long.' Cafferty looked towards the small crowd outside the crematorium. Fresh mourners were arriving for the next session, mostly in cars, a few on foot. 'I hate these places,' he muttered with a shiver.

'Don't we all?'

'It's in my will that I'm to be buried rather than burned.'

'In consecrated ground?' Rebus took one last puff of his cigarette before grinding the stub under his heel.

'I'm prepared to repent my sins at the last.'

'Better start nowit's going to take a while.'

The two men shared a smile. Cafferty examined the tips of his shoes. 'Christie's teamed up with Joe Stark,' he said.