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'Now wait a minute.' Addison 's fleshy face had gone from pink to red, highlighting razor-rash at the neck.

'I've just been talking with my colleagues,' Rebus ploughed on, 'about how everything's co

Maybe you took some time out of your busy schedule for a round of golf with them at Gleneagles? Stuart Ja

'I really don't see what any of this has to do with my stepdaughter.'

'Might be a bit embarrassing if it turns out she's linked to the Todorov murder… doesn't matter how many degrees of separation you try to make out there are. She leads straight to you, straight to the top of FAB. Don't suppose Andropov and his pals will be too thrilled with that.'

Corbyn banged his fists against the table, eyes like burning coals. Addison was shaking, levering himself to his feet. 'This was a mistake,' he was saying. 'I blame myself for not wanting to see her hurt.'

'Michael,' Corbyn started to say, but then broke off, having nothing with which to finish the sentence.

'I notice your stepdaughter hasn't taken your surname, sir,'

Rebus said. 'Doesn't stop her asking for favours, though, does it?

And that lovely apartment of hers – owned by the bank, is it?'

Addison 's overcoat and scarf were hanging on a peg behind the door, and that was his destination.

'An appeal to common decency, that's all,' the banker was saying, more to himself than anyone else. He'd managed to get one arm into a sleeve but was struggling with the other. Nevertheless, his need to get out was too great, and the coat was hanging off him as he left. The door stayed open. Corbyn and Rebus were on their feet, facing one another.

'That seemed to go well,' Rebus commented.

“You're a bloody fool, Rebus.'

'What happened to “John”? Reckon he'll hike your mortgage, just out of spite?'

'He's a good man – and a personal friend,' Corbyn spat.

'And his stepdaughter is a lying drug-user.' Rebus offered a shrug. 'Like they say, you can't choose your family. You can, however, choose your friends… but FAB's friends seem to be a fairly rum bunch, too.'

'First Alba

'Doesn't make them the good guys.'

'I suppose you opt to see yourself as the “good guy”?' Corbyn let out a jagged laugh. 'Christ, you've got a nerve.'

Was there anything else, sir? Maybe a neighbour who wants CID to focus its scant resources on the theft of a garden gnome?'

'Just one last thing.' Corbyn had seated himself again. His next three words were spaced evenly. “You… are… history.'

“Thanks for the reminder.'

'I mean it. I know you've got three days left till retirement, but

you're going to spend them on suspension.'

Rebus stared hard at the man. 'Isn't that just a tiny bit petty and pathetic, sir?'

'In which case, you're going to love the rest of it.' Corbyn took a deep breath. 'If I hear you've so much as crossed the threshold at Gayfield Square, I'll demote each and every officer within your compass. What I want you to do, Rebus, is crawl away from here and tick off the days on the calendar. You're no longer a serving detective, and never will be.' He held out the palm of one hand.

'Warrant card, please.'

Want to fight me for it?'

– 'Only if you're ready to spend time in the cells. I think we could hold you for three days without too much trouble.' The hand twitched, inviting Rebus's cooperation. 'I can think of at least three chief constables before me who would love to be here right now,'

Corbyn cooed.

The, too,' Rebus agreed. 'We'd get a barbershop quartet going and sing about the fuckwit sitting in front of us.'

'And that,' Corbyn added triumphantly, 'is the reason you're being suspended.'

Rebus couldn't believe the hand was still there. 'You want my warrant card,' he said quietly, 'send the boys round for it.' He turned and headed for the door. There was a secretary standing there, clutching a file to her chest, eyes and mouth gawping. Rebus confirmed with a nod that her ears had not deceived her, and mouthed the word 'fuckwit', just to be on the safe side.

Outside in the car park he unlocked his Saab, but then stood there, hand on the door handle, staring into space. For a while now, he'd known the truth – that it wasn't so much the underworld you had to fear as the overworld. Maybe that explained why Cafferty had, to all purposes and appearances, gone legit. A few friends in the right places and deals got done, fates decided. Never in his life had Rebus felt like an insider. From time to time he'd tried -during his years in the army and his first few months as a cop.

But the less he felt he belonged, the more he came to mistrust the others around him with their games of golf and their 'quiet words', their stitch-ups and handshakes, palm-greasing and scratching of backs. Stood to reason someone like Addison would go straight to the top; he'd done it because he could, because in his world it felt entirely justified and correct. Rebus had to admit, though, he'd underestimated Corbyn, hadn't expected him to pull that particular trick. Kicked into touch until gold-watch day.

'Fuckwit,' he said out loud, this time aiming the word at no one but himself.

That was that, then. End of the line, end of the job. These past weeks, he'd been trying so hard not to think about it – throwing himself into other work, any work. Dusting off all those old unsolveds, trying to get Siobhan interested, as if she didn't have more than enough on her plate in the here and now – a situation unlikely to change in the future. The alternative was to take the whole lot home with him… call it his retirement gift; something to keep his brain active when the idea of the pub didn't appeal.

For three decades now this job of his had sustained him, and all it had cost him was his marriage and a slew of friendships and shattered relationships. No way he was ever going to feel like a civilian again; too late for that; too late for him to change. He would become invisible to the world, not just to revelling teenagers.

'Fuck,' he said, drawing the word out way past its natural length.

It was the casual arrogance that had flipped his switch, Addison sitting there in the full confidence of his power – and the stepdaughter's arrogance, too, in thinking one weepy phone call would make everything better. It was, Rebus realised, how things worked in the overworld. Addison had never woken from a beating in a piss-stained tenement stairwell. His stepdaughter had never worked the streets for money for her next fix and the kids' di

They lived in another place entirely – no doubt part of the buzz Gill Morgan got from mixing with the likes of Nancy Sievewright.

The same buzz Corbyn got from having one of the most powerful men in Europe come to him with a favour.

The same buzz Cafferty got, buying drinks for businessmen and politicians… Cafferty: unfinished business, and likely to remain that way if Rebus heeded Corbyn's orders. Cafferty unfettered, free to commute between underworld and overworld. Unless Rebus went back indoors right now and apologised to the Chief Constable, promising to toe the line.

The scrapheap's hurtling towards me as it is… give me this one last chance… please, sir… please…

'Aye, right,' Rebus said, yanking open the car door and stabbing the key into the ignition.