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'They asked him a few questions at A amp;E. By the time I saw him, he'd been transferred to a ward. Just the one night, for observation.'

'Do you think he told the officers anything?'

Goodyear shrugged. 'All he said was, he was having a drink and this guy took against him. It moved outside and Sol came off worst.'

'And the other guy?'

'Didn't say anything about him.' Goodyear bit his bottom lip. 'If Sol's co

'I'll have to ask DCI Macrae.'

He nodded again, but dolefully this time. 'I didn't know he was still dealing,' he stressed. 'Maybe Sievewright's lying…'

Clarke imagined herself placing a hand on his arm, offering comfort. But in the real world, she just moved past him and back into the already overcrowded CID suite. Chairs had been borrowed from the interview rooms, and she had to weave between them as she made for her desk. There was another officer stationed there.

He apologised but didn't move. Three more detectives were huddled around Rebus's desk. Clarke picked up her phone and called Torphichen. She was patched through to CID and found herself talking to Detective Inspector Shug Davidson.

'Want to thank you,' he chuckled, 'for taking Ray Reynolds off our hands.' She looked across the room towards Reynolds, a detective constable these past nine years, promotion never on the cards. He was standing in front of the Murder Wall and rubbing his stomach as if preparing for another of his infamous belches.

'That's good,' she told Davidson, 'because I'm after a favour in return.'

'What's this I hear about John getting booted into touch?' 'News travels…'

'Age has not softened him – that's a quote from somewhere.'

'Listen, Shug, do you remember last Wednesday night, a fight outside a pub at Haymarket?'

'Sol Goodyear, you mean?'

'That's right.'

Tou've got his brother on secondment, I'm told. Seems like a decent bloke. I think he's embarrassed about Sol – and rightly so.

Sol's got a fair bit of form.'

'So this fight he got into…?'

'If you ask me, there was money owed by one of his punters.

Guy didn't fancy paying up, so decided to have a go at Sol. We're considering making it attempted murder.'

Todd says he was only in hospital the one night.'

'With eight stitches in his side. More of a slice than a proper stabbing, meaning he got lucky.'

Tou caught the attacker?'

'He's pleading self-defence, naturally. Name's Larry Fintry – Crazy Larry, he gets called. Should be in the nut-house, if you ask me.'

'Care in the community, Shug.'

'Aye, with the pharmaceuticals dispensed by Sol Goodyear.'

'I need to speak to Sol,' Clarke said.

'Why's that?'

'The Todorov murder. We think the girl who found the body was on her way to Sol's.'

'More than likely,' Davidson agreed. 'Last address I have for him is Raeburn Wynd.'

Clarke's whole body froze for a moment. 'That's where we found the body.'

'I know.' Davidson was laughing. 'And if Sol hadn't been getting himself stabbed at Haymarket around the exact same time, I might have thought to mention it earlier.'

In the end, she took Phyllida Hawes with her. Tibbet had looked distraught, as if fearing Siobhan had already made up her mind who should replace her at sergeant level when she was promoted. She hadn't bothered reminding him that she would have little or no say over anyone's fate. Instead, she had simply told him that he was in charge until her return, which perked him up a little.

They'd taken Clarke's car, sticking to shop talk interrupted only occasionally by awkward silences – Hawes wanting to know about life post-Rebus (but not daring to ask), while Clarke didn't quite get round to bringing up Hawes's relationship with Tibbet. It was a mercy when the car finally stopped at the foot of Raeburn Wynd.

The lane was L-shaped. From the main road, all you could see were garages and lock-ups, but around the corner, buildings which at one time would have housed horses and their coaches had been turned into mews flats.

'None of the neighbours heard anything?' Hawes asked.

'Might send the team out to ask them again and flash that e-fit,'

Clarke considered.

'Can Ray Reynolds be one of them, please?'

Clarke managed a smile. 'Didn't take long.'

'I'd heard the stories,' Hawes said, 'but nothing quite prepares you…'

They'd turned the corner into the mews proper. Clarke stopped at one of the doors, checked the address she'd copied into her notebook, and pressed the bell. After twenty seconds, she tried again.

'I'm coming!' someone yelled from within. There was the sound of feet thumping down a flight of stairs, and the door was opened by Sol Goodyear. Had to be him: same eyelashes and ears as his brother.

'Solomon Goodyear?' Clarke checked.

'Christ, what do you lot want?'

'Well spotted. I'm DS Clarke, this is DC Hawes.'

'Got a warrant?'

'Want to ask you a couple of questions about the murder.'

'What murder?'

'The one at the bottom of your street.'

'I was in hospital at the time.'

'How's the wound?'

He lifted his shirt to show a large white compress, just above the waistband of his underpants. 'Itches like buggery,' he admitted.

Then, catching on: 'How did you know about it?'

'DI Davidson at Torphichen filled me in. Mentioned Crazy Larry, too. Bit of a tip for you, actually – before you square up to someone, always check their nickname.'

Sol Goodyear snorted at that, but still didn't show any great desire to let them in. 'My brother's a cop,' he said instead.

'Oh, yes?' Clarke tried to sound surprised. She reckoned Sol would try this line on any police officer he met.

'He's still in uniform, but not for much longer. Todd's always been a fast-track kind of guy. He was the white sheep of the family.'

He gave a little laugh at what Clarke reckoned was another of his well-rehearsed lines.

'That's a good one,' Hawes obliged, managing to sound as though

she meant the opposite. The laugh died in Sol Goodyear's throat.

'Well, anyway,' he sniffed, 'I wasn't here that night. They didn't discharge me till the evening after.'

'Did Nancy come to see you at the hospital?'

' Nancy who?'

Your girlfriend Nancy. She was on her way here when she tripped over the body. You were going to sell her some stuff for a friend of hers.'

'She's not my girlfriend,' he stated, having decided in the blinking of an eye that there was no point lying about things they already knew.

'She seems to think she is.'

'She's mistaken.'

Tou're just her dealer, then?'

He scowled as though pained by this turn in the conversation.

'What I am, officer, is the victim of a stabbing. The painkillers I'm on make it highly unlikely that anything I say could be used in a court of law.'

'Clever boy,' Clarke said, sounding admiring, 'you know your loopholes.'

'Learned the hard way.'

She nodded slowly. 'I've heard it was Big Ger Cafferty got you started on the selling – do you still see him?'

'Don't know who you're talking about.'

'Fu

'Think you've got the patter, don't you?' Sol Goodyear was saying.

'Well try this for a pay-off.'

And with that, he slammed the door in their faces. From behind it, as he started climbing the stairs again, could be heard a stream of invective. Hawes raised an eyebrow.

'Bitches and lesbians,' she repeated. 'Always nice to learn something new about yourself 'Isn't it?'

'So now we've got one brother involved, I suppose that means the other has to be taken off the case?'