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solicitor. But she hadn’t seemed to understand.
    At St Leonard’s, Rebus stayed in his car, enjoying a last cigarette with his drink. A couple of vans sat at the station’s back door, waiting for anyone who was being taken to court. Rebus had given evidence in a case a few days ago. He kept meaning to find out what the result had been. When the station door opened, he expected to see the custody line, but it was Siobhan Clarke. She saw his car and smiled, shaking her head at the inevitability of the scene. As she came forwards, Rebus lowered the window.
    ‘The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast,’ she said.
    ‘And a good morning to you too.’
    ‘Boss wants to see you.’
    ‘He sent the right sniffer dog.’
    Siobhan didn’t say anything, just smiled to herself as Rebus got out of the car. They were halfway across the car park before he heard the words: ‘It’s not a “he” any more.’ He stopped in his tracks.
    ‘I’d forgotten,’ he admitted.
    ‘How’s the hangover, by the way? Anything else you might have managed to forget?’
    As she opened the door for him, he had the sudden image of a gamekeeper opening a trap.
    The Farmer’s photos and coffee machine had gone, and there were some Good Luck cards on top of the filing cabinet, but otherwise the room was just as before, down to the paperwork in the in-tray and the solitary potted cactus on the windowsill. Gill Templer looked uncomfortable in the Farmer’s chair, his daily bulk having moulded it in ways which would never fit her slimmer proportions.
    ‘Sit down, John.’ Then, when he was halfway on to the seat: ‘And tell me what last night was all about.’ Elbows on the desk, she placed the tips of her fingers together. It was something the Farmer had often done when trying to hide irritation or impatience. She’d either picked it up from him, or it was a perk of her new seniority.
    ‘Last night?’
    ‘Philippa Balfour’s flat. Her father found you there.’ She looked up. ‘Apparently you’d been drinking.’
    ‘Hadn’t we all?’
    ‘Not as much as some.’ Her eyes moved down again to the sheet of paper on her desk. ‘Mr Balfour’s wondering what you were up to. Frankly, I’m more than a little curious myself.’
    ‘I was on my way home …’
    ‘Leith Walk to Marchmont? Via the New Town? Sounds like you got bad directions.’
    Rebus realised that he was still holding his beaker of coffee. He placed it on the floor, taking his time. ‘It’s just something I do,’ he said at last. ‘When things are quiet, I like to go back.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘In case anything’s been missed.’
    She seemed to consider this. ‘I’m not sure that’s the whole story.’
    He shrugged, said nothing. Her eyes were on the sheet again.
    ‘And then you decided to pay Ms Balfour’s boyfriend a call. How wise was that?’
    ‘That really was on the way home. I stopped to talk to Connolly and Daniels. Mr Costello’s light was on; I thought I’d make sure he was all right.’
    ‘The caring copper.’ She paused. ‘That’s presumably why Mr Costello felt it necessary to mention your visit to his solicitor?’
    ‘I don’t know why he did that.’ Rebus shifted a little on the hard chair; disguised it by reaching for his coffee.
    ‘His lawyer’s talking about “harassment”. We might have to pull the surveillance.’ Her eyes were fixed on him.
    ‘Look, Gill,’ he said, ‘you and me, we’ve known each other for donkey’s. It’s no secret how I work. I’m sure DCS Watson quoted scripture on the subject.’
    ‘That was then, John.’
    ‘Meaning what?’
    ‘How much did you have to drink last night?’
    ‘More than I should have, but it wasn’t my fault.’ He watched as Gill raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m positive someone slipped me a Mickey Finn.’
    ‘I want you to see a doctor.’
    ‘Christ Almighty …’
    ‘Your drinking, your diet, your general health … I want you to take a medical, and whatever the doctor says is necessary,