“I’m glad you could make time, sir,” Rebus stated, getting his retaliation in first. “I wanted to ask you about the night Ben Webster died.”

Corbyn was caught off guard. “What about it?”

“You were at the dinner, sir…something you should probably have declared from the start.”

“We’re not here to talk about me, DI Rebus. We’re here so that I can formally suspend the pair of you from active duty with immediate effect.”

Rebus nodded slowly, as if this were a given. “All the same, sir, now you are here, best if we get your statement. Looks like we’re hiding something otherwise. Papers are flocking around like vultures. Hardly in the interests of public relations for the chief constable to be-”

Corbyn rose to his feet. “Maybe you weren’t listening, Inspector. You’re no longer taking part in any inquiry. I want the pair of you off the premises in the next five minutes. You’ll go home and sit by the phone, waiting for news of my investigation into your conduct. Is that clear?”

“I need a few minutes to update my notes, sir. Need to make our conversation a matter of record.”

Corbyn stabbed a finger toward Rebus. “I’ve heard all about you, Rebus.” His gaze shifted to Siobhan. “Might explain why you were so reluctant to give me your colleague’s name when I put you in charge.”

“You never actually asked, sir, if you don’t mind me saying,” Siobhan retorted.

“But you knew damned well trouble couldn’t be far off.” His attention was firmly back on Rebus. “Not with Rebus here in the vicinity.”

“With respect, sir-” Siobhan started to argue.

Corbyn slammed his fist against the desk. “I told you to put the whole thing on ice! Instead of which, it makes the front pages, and then you proceed to end up at Gleneagles! When I tell you you’re off the case, that’s all you need to know. End of game. Sayonara. Finito.”

“Picked up a few words at the dinner, eh, sir?” Rebus responded with a wink. Corbyn’s eyes bulged from his head. Just their luck if he were to collapse with an aneurysm. But instead he stalked from the room, almost sending Siobhan and a bookcase toppling as he passed them. Rebus exhaled noisily, ran a hand through his hair, and scratched his nose.

“So what do you want to do now?” he asked.

Siobhan just looked at him. “Pack my things?” she guessed.

“Packing certainly comes into it,” Rebus replied. “We pack all the case files off to my place, set up camp there.”

“John…”

“You’re right,” he said, choosing to misinterpret her tone. “They’ll be noticed if they go missing. So we need to copy them instead.”

This time he got a smile.

“I’ll do it if you want,” he added. “I know you’ve got a hot date.”

“In the pouring rain.”

“Only excuse Travis needs to play that bloody song of theirs.” He emerged from Starr’s office. “Did you catch any of that, Ellen?”

She was putting the phone down. “I couldn’t warn you,” she began.

“Don’t apologize. I suppose Corbyn knows who you are now?” He perched on the corner of her desk.

“Didn’t seem that interested. He got my name and rank, never bothered to ask if I was a regular here.”

“Perfect,” Rebus told her. “Means you can keep being our ears and eyes.”

“Hang on a second,” Siobhan interrupted. “That’s not your call to make.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Siobhan ignored him, focusing on Ellen Wylie. “This is my show, Ellen. Understood?”

“Don’t worry, Siobhan, I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

“I’m not saying you’re not wanted, but I need to know you’re on our side.”

Wylie prickled visibly. “As opposed to whose?”

“Ladies, ladies,” Rebus said, stepping between them like an old-fashioned wrestling referee. His eyes were on Siobhan. “An extra pair of hands wouldn’t go amiss, boss, you have to admit that.”

She smiled eventually-boss had done the trick. But her gaze stayed fixed on Wylie. “Even so,” she said, “we can’t ask you to spy for us. It’s one thing for John and me to get into trouble, another to land you in the mire.”

“I don’t mind,” Wylie said. “Nice overalls, by the way.”

Siobhan’s smile reappeared. “I suppose I should change before the show.”

Rebus exhaled noisily: flash point avoided. “So what’s been happening here?” he asked Wylie.

“Trying to alert all the offenders listed on BeastWatch. I’ve asked the various police authorities to tell them to be on their guard.”

“And did they sound enthusiastic?”

“Not exactly. Betweentimes, I’ve had several dozen reporters following up on the front page.” She had the newspaper beside her and tapped Mairie’s headline. “Amazed she gets the time,” she commented.

“How’s that?” Rebus wondered.

Wylie opened the paper at a double-page spread. Byline: Mairie Henderson. An interview with Councilman Gareth Tench. Big photo of him in the midst of the Niddrie campsite.

“I was there when they did that,” Siobhan said.

“I know him,” Wylie couldn’t help countering. Rebus gave her a look.

“Explain.”

She gave a shrug, wary of his sudden interest. “I just do.”

“Ellen,” he warned, drawing her name out.

She sighed. “He’s been seeing Denise.”

“Your sister Denise?” Siobhan asked.

Wylie nodded. “It was me who hooked them up, more or less.”

“They’re an item?” Rebus had wrapped his arms around himself like a straitjacket.

“They’ve been out a few times. He’s been…” She sought the right words. “He’s been good for her, brought her out of herself.”

“With the help of a drop of wine?” Rebus guessed. “But how did you come to meet him?”

“BeastWatch,” she said quietly, eyes refusing to connect with his.

“Say again?”

“He saw that piece I wrote. Sent me an e-mail full of praise.”

Rebus had jumped to his feet, unfolding his arms as he searched the desk for a sheet of paper-the list Bain had given of BeastWatch subscribers.

“Which one is he?” he demanded, handing her the names.

“That one,” she said.

“Ozyman?” Rebus checked, watching her nod. “Hell kind of name is that? He’s not from Down Under, is he?”

“Ozymandias, maybe,” Siobhan offered.

“Ozzy Osbourne’s more my line,” Rebus admitted. Siobhan leaned over a keyboard and stuck the name into a search engine. A couple of clicks and a biography appeared on the screen.

“King of kings,” Siobhan explained. “Put up a huge statue of himself.” Two more clicks and Rebus was looking at a poem by Shelley.

“‘Look on my works, ye Mighty,’” he recited, “‘and despair.’” He turned toward Wylie. “Not that he’s bigheaded or anything.”

“Can’t dispute it,” she conceded. “All I said was, he’s been good for Denise.”

“We need to talk to him,” Rebus said, his eyes running down the list of names, wondering how many more lived in Edinburgh. “And you, Ellen, should have said something before now.”

“I didn’t know you had a list,” she said, defensively.

“He got to you through the Web site-stands to reason we’d want to question him. Christ knows, we’ve few enough leads to go on.”

“Or too many,” Siobhan countered. “Victims in three different regions, clues left in another…It’s all so scattered.”

“I thought you were heading home to get ready?”

She nodded, looked around the office. “You’re really going to take it all with you?”

“Why not? I can copy the paperwork, Ellen here won’t mind staying late to make some floppies.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Will you, Ellen?”

“That’s my punishment, is it?”

“I can appreciate you’d want Denise kept out of it,” Rebus told her, “but you should still have given us Tench.”

“Just remember, John,” Siobhan interrupted, “the councilman saved me from a beating that night in Niddrie.”

Rebus nodded. Could have added that he’d witnessed another side to Gareth Tench, but didn’t bother.

“Enjoy your concert,” he said instead.

Siobhan’s attention was back on Ellen Wylie. “My team, Ellen. If I think you’re hiding anything else…”