His only comment: ‘You didn’t eat much.’ ‘Bit bland for me, Jack.’ Rebus was itching now: for a cigarette and Aberdeen both. There was something up there he wanted; he just didn’t know quite what it was. The truth maybe. He should have been itching for a drink too, but the wine had put him off. It slopped in his stomach, liquid heartburn. He sat at a desk and read through Shankley’s statement. The big man was in a cell downstairs. Jack had worked fast; Rebus couldn’t see anything missing. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I’m back from parole. How did I do?’ ‘Let’s not make it a regular date, my heart couldn’t take it.’ Rebus smiled, picked up a phone. He wanted to check his machine at home, see if Ancram had plans for him. He did: nine tomorrow morning. There was another message. It was from Kayleigh Burgess. She needed to talk with him. ‘I’m seeing someone in Morningside at three, so how about four at that big hotel in Bruntsfield? We can have afternoon tea.’ She said it was important.
