.

I

.

This time they stopped at Laura's so Siobhan could get some clean clothes. James noticed Laura watching them carefully. She knows this is an act, he realized. But the funny thing was, it didn't feel much like an act.

When they got to his place, he pulled out a couple of beers and they sat next to each other on the sofa. Hathaway took a long swallow from his beer and set it down. He had brought a copy of Madge's report to read more thoroughly. She had attached records from the Tristam case, and Siobhan read through some of the material, too. There was plenty for them both to work on.

Hathaway's eye caught something in a newspaper clipping about the arrest. The murder had been a big story and the reporter expressed his gratitude to the police for having apprehended the killer.

"Listen to this: Tristam was arrested by two members of Newcastle's finest: Detective Constable Joseph Barnes and Detective Sergeant Thomas Fordham. Fordham!"

He shook his head. "I hate to say it, but it's been starting to look to me like this was inside work. Can we connect Fordham to the other victims?"

"Well, he failed his Inspector's last year when Swanson was an assessor, and he failed it a couple of times in Newcastle. DI Foster sometimes was an assessor for the exam, he'd drive down to England for that, but I don't know what cities he went to. And I haven't gotten the list yet of who the Newcastle assessors were for the exams Fordham took, there's just been too much to do. But it could have been him, the timing would be right."

"And you never told us Foster was also an assessor? Might have been nice to know. We could have given you a hand with all that work." He firmed his mouth into a line. It's not her fault. "So where does Stevenson fit in?"

She shook her head. "I've drawn a blank on that." Then she squared her jaw, inhaled deeply, and turned to Hathaway.

"There's something I'm not supposed to tell you. But it's not right, you guys and us not working together. But, see, you were a suspect, James. Rebus has been convinced ever since Foster that it was another police officer behind the disappearances. That's partly why we came down; it wasn't only his knowledge of the Edinburgh cases, it was so that someone independent of the station was on the case." She swallowed and smiled faintly at him. "Sorry."

"Ah. So why are you telling me now?"

Her smile broadened. "Rebus wanted me to get close to you, sound out your credibility and see if I thought maybe it was you. Or if you were directing the inquiry away from someone else. We were checking into all the examinees."

"He wanted you to sleep with me?"

"Well, I wasn't ordered to, but it was part of the job, yeah. Only, it turns out I really do like you. Maybe not enough to sleep with you, but you're a great guy." She looked hopeful that she hadn't completely offended him.

He snorted. "In that case, there's something I need to set straight with you, too. Inspector Lewis ordered me to get friendly with you, to gain your trust. That's why I took you to dinner last night and brought you here and all." He studied her eyes. So far, she seemed to be taking this news in stride.

"But after last night and today, I like you, too. I don't want to hurt you at all. So how about we spend the evening together, disobeying orders. Let's see if we can get a handle on this case if we pool our knowledge, and I'd be happy if you stayed the night. This time, you can have the bed and I'll sleep on the sofa." He hesitated. "Though I'll understand if you instead want me to take you back to Laura's right now.

Her smile stretched across her face. "I'd like to stay, definitely. And can you believe those two? Trying to use us against each other. Well, Rebus, that doesn't surprise me. But your guv'nor seems like such a sweet guy. I think Laura's completely in love with him."

James laughed out loud. "We all think that, except for Lewis. He's not sure. Or maybe it's himself he's not sure about. Drives everyone crazy."

Siobhan took another swig of beer and got down to business. "Okay, so Fordham could have done Wright, angry about getting a dismissal of a murderer in the case that had made him a hero. Then he does Foster—" She looked confused. "Or did Foster come first? How much time between them?"

"Wright was first, then Foster three weeks later."

"Okay, so he fails his Inspector's and offs Foster."

Hathaway interjected. "And fires a batch of clayware to get rid of the bodies. The Chief Super has one."

Clarke stared. "Is that why you noticed it last night?" He nodded.

She continued the narrative. "He gets transferred down here, bides his time, and then does Stevenson but we don't know why. Personal matter?"

"Sounds like tomorrow we have some interviewing to do." James was buzzing: Progress!

"Yeah." She frowned, not certain they had more than a theory at this point. "I wonder if we should ring the boss."

"Yours or mine?"

"Either."

Hathaway considered. "It'll keep another five hours, won't it?"

"You're right. I'll catch hell if I wake him and it's not an emergency. Or worse, he might not even be asleep. He's hot to get into Innocent's knickers."

This got a chuckle from James. "I wish him luck with that."

Siobhan looked at him sideways. "He's usually good at it, so don't be surprised if he succeeds." Then she took up her earlier train of thought. "So after he failed the exam last year, why did he wait so long before taking care of Swanson?"

"Well, maybe when he found out Swanson was on again this year, he thought he better take him off the list."

This puzzled her. "List?"

"Yeah, we got a list on Friday of all the assessors so that we could report any potential conflicts of interest. You know, like if one of them was your boss."

Awareness dawned in her eyes. "He would have known all weekend. Wow. I didn't know about that."

"And then when he thought the car park attendant had seen, he got him too, only, no note because it wasn't done for that reason." He stifled a yawn. "Sorry. I wonder how much sooner we would have gotten to this point if our inspectors weren't so hostile to each other."

She only twisted an ironic smile, and James yawned again.

"Sorry! I think I better get some sleep. Sounds like tomorrow could be a big day."

He walked her as far as the bedroom door. "There's towels on the shelf in the bathroom. Let me know if you need anything else." Then he bent and kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, Siobhan."

He was smiling as he settled down on the sofa.

.

II

.

Out in Lewis's back garden, Rebus was leaning against the wall, talking on his mobile while he worked on a cigarette. "C'mon, Jean, I won't touch you. Really. I'd just like to be with you again, you remind me of happier days."

"Absolutely not, John. Last night was a mistake, a very bad mistake. In fact, it might be accurate to call our relationship in Edinburgh a mistake, as well. You have no sense of monogamy whatsoever. If you get over here, you'll turn on that charm of yours and do everything in your power to have your way with me. I won't let that happen, not after last night. Now please don't phone me like this again. And please don't call me 'Jean' at the station, either."

He pouted. "Maybe I should just go home."

"Not until you make some progress! Now, good night." She rang off.

Rebus finished his cigarette and pitched the end away. He was not in the mood to be stuck in Lewis's flat all night, that was for certain. He went back inside and helped himself to the bottle of The Macallan he'd found earlier in the cabinet where Lewis kept his spirits. Lewis had said he could help himself. A generous measure in a tumbler, with a splash of water. So smooth going down. So warm. He refilled the empty glass. Bloody Jean Innocent!

The phone rang, and Lewis came from his bedroom to pick it up. His eyes narrowed at the whisky bottle on the counter before he glanced at the caller ID. Laura Hobson.

"Hi."

"Robbie, I wanted to talk to you about James and Siobhan. They stopped here earlier to get some of her clothes, she's going to spend another night with him."

"Good." He kept his eye on Rebus, not wanting to give away too much about who had rung and watching to see how much single malt he was pouring into his glass.

"It's been bothering me a lot. It's not right, your pushing them together. They're both nice people and James wouldn't be acting like this if you hadn't forced him to come on to her so strongly."

"I explained to you why I did that."

"It's not a good enough reason to warrant meddling in affairs of the heart."

He found himself getting irritated. Rebus was putting the stuff away as though it didn't cost forty pounds a crack. And he could take out his irritation only one way.

"I'm not bloody meddling! He has his own will, his own moral standards. Is that why you called? To give me a bollocking for something that's none of your business?"

Rebus looked interested in the conversation.

"Robbie, I just think it's gone far enough."

Lewis exhaled. "Look, I don't want to talk about this in front of the kids, alright? You want to rake me over the coals, do it some other time."

He almost slammed the phone down. Glaring at Rebus:

"What did I say that's any of your bloody business?" He noticed the bottle was empty, and his face turned red. "Y'drank all me Macallan, ya selfish bastard! You're one brilliant guest, y'know?" His chest heaved with anger.

Rebus slammed the glass on the counter. "You just bloody assume I wouldn't replace it, don't ye? Cheapskate jock, right? It's spirits, man, that's what it's there for, ya damn fool. It's for drinkin'!" Rebus grabbed his jacket and stormed toward the door. "And don't bloody lock me out unless ye want me kickin' doon the door later!"

The door banged shut.

.

III

.

Robbie started awake at the sound of the door closing. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa, and his back ached in protest. The lamp was still on, and as Rebus crossed the room, Lewis saw him check to see if his host's eyes were open. Lewis sat up, stretching his sore back and rubbing some of the sleep out of his eyes. The smell of chips and cigarette smoke hung heavily around his guest.

Lewis blinked. "What time is it?"

"Half one. Did I miss my curfew?"

Lewis didn't look at him. He regretted his earlier outburst. Lack of progress in a case always made him grouchy, but that never helped matters. He had to try to repair the damage and somehow make peace with his visitor. If they could have a normal conversation, maybe they could start to work together.

Lewis understood that some animals consider direct eye contact to communicate a threat, and he decided to test the hypothesis that John Rebus was one such creature.

"Just wondered how dearly me spine is going to pay for this."

Rebus looked curious. "I'd rather sleep in my chair than my bed any day."

"Too many bad memories?" Eyes averted, expression mild.

Rebus jerked his head around at the wind-up, scowling, then broke into a wide grin. "Aye, I suppose that's it." He considered a moment. "Obviously, that's not your problem."

Lewis snorted. "No, my bed has too many good memories."

The Scotsman softened his expression. "Your sergeant, did he help you through that?"

"He wasn't here yet. And they pulled my sergeant at the time and put her with another inspector. Not that she would have been any help."

"Leaving you on your own, eh?" Lewis didn't answer. Rebus realized he was getting in deeper than he was welcome. But how could he work with a man he didn't know at all? "And the pathologist is the only one you have left from that time." It wasn't a question.

Lewis looked up and met the other man's gaze squarely. There was no challenge in Rebus's eyes, only an invitation to trust.

Lewis gave a hint of a sad smile. "Yeah."

The single word explained everything to Rebus. "So, maybe not so bad if your sergeant gets his Inspector's and moves on?" As long as you have her, he added silently.

"I've already decided that if he does, that's when I retire. But I think Jean Innocent will make sure we're together to the end and that James gets a good place after I go."

"How is he likely to do on the exam?"

"He'll walk it."

Rebus snorted. "Graduate entry scheme looking out for its own again, eh? Or maybe not, and that's why he had to see Swanson off; he wasn't willing to play the game according to the toff rules?"

Lewis looked surprised and then a little offended. "Nothin' like that. Swanson was like you and me, John. Came up through the ranks the long way. Hathaway's brilliant, he doesn't need any help against a bloody piece of paper."

"He doesn't seem to want to talk about it."

Lewis thought, then shook his head. "That's only because it's not important to him. It's no longer something he needs to worry about." An idea clicked. "Consider him a suspect, do you?"

Rebus inhaled. "Not any more. But I had to, don't y'see? It's why I couldn't tell you everything."

"And now, you have done."

"You know everything I know."

Lewis didn't believe him, but it didn't seem to matter any more. He stood and yawned, and his eyes caught the photo of himself and Val. As happened about every tenth time he saw it, his breath caught and a sob lodged in his throat.

Rebus's dark eyes darted from Lewis to the photo, making the connection. "Would you have done anything differently, if you'd known?" His voice was gentle.

Without averting his gaze, Robbie considered his answer. No one had ever asked him that question.

"No. Not one thing." He swallowed. "I'm sorry I lost her, but have no regrets about the way I treated her. She was bloody marvelous, and I had the good sense to appreciate it." He firmed his lips into what Rebus realized was a wall against further discussion on the subject. "G'night." He shuffled off to his bedroom and all those good memories.

No regrets. Rebus slumped onto the vacated sofa, thinking. Perhaps more than a little envious. He had enough regrets for both of them. But as different as their personal lives were, he and Lewis were in many ways identical as detectives. They'd worked hard to make it to Inspector, fighting dismissive attitudes among their superiors and having to prove themselves over and over before being taken seriously. Of course, Rebus didn't have the disadvantage of being a transplant. He wondered how accepting the force in Edinburgh would be of a Geordie in their midst. Newcastle wasn't very far from Edinburgh in miles, but he didn't think the welcome would be any warmer there. Maybe even worse. At least there were a couple other northerners here in Oxford. Fordham was one, he remembered Siobhan telling him. Though he couldn't picture Lewis going for a jar with Fordham, who according to Siobhan seemed only interested in theatre and art. And knitting, of all things. How many tries had he made at the Inspector's? This had been his fourth, Clarke had said.

His fourth. The fact snagged the fabric of thoughts Rebus was weaving. Fordham had only come to Oxford three years ago. He'd been in Newcastle before that. Would have made his first attempt or two at the exam up there. And DI Foster would have been one of the assessors.