'For once John's not wrong,' she told the room, 'much as it galls me to say it.' She smiled, and he smiled back with a little bow from the waist.

'Had to happen once in my career,' he said. 'Better late than never, I suppose.' There were more smiles, and Rebus felt it at that moment. The inquiry had been on the go for days, but only now had everything changed.

Despite the scowls and the sniping, they really were a team.

Which was how Macrae found them when he walked into the CID suite. Even he seemed to sense a change of atmosphere. Clarke

gave him her report, keeping everything simple. The phone rang on Hawes's desk and Rebus wondered if it was another response to their public appeal. He thought again of the prostitute, trying to do business on a no-through-road, and of Cath Mills, stoking up on Rioja. Todorov was attractive to women – and attracted by them, no doubt. Could a stranger have lured him to his doom with an offer of sex? It was straight out of Le Carre…

Hawes was off the phone and advancing towards Rebus's desk.

'They found the body,' was all she needed to say.

Rebus knocked on Macrae's door, relaying the message with a look and a nod. Clarke asked the boss if she could be excused. Back in the main body of the kirk, she asked Hawes for details.

'Male, they think. Under a collapsed section of ceiling in the living room.'

'Meaning the studio room,' Goodyear interrupted, reminding them all that he, too, had been to the producer's home.

'They've got their own team taking photographs and the like,'

Hawes went on. 'Body is on its way to the mortuary.'

To be placed in the Decomposing Room, Rebus didn't doubt. He wondered how Todd Goodyear would react to seeing a crispy one.

We should go there,' Clarke told him. But Rebus was shaking his head.

'Take Todd,' he offered. 'Part of that CID learning curve…'

Hawes was on the phone to CR Studios, giving them the news while confirming that Riordan himself hadn't actually turned up so far that day. Colin Tibbet's task was to chase up Richard Browning at the Caledonian Hotel. How long did it take to go through an evening's worth of bar tabs? If Rebus didn't know better, he'd have said Browning was chancing his arm, hoping CID would forget all about it. When a face appeared around the door, Rebus was the only one not doing anything.

There's someone downstairs,' the desk sergeant said. 'Looking to hand in a list of Russians… could it be the Hearts first team for Saturday?'

But Rebus knew who and what it was: Nikolai Stahov from the consulate; Russian nationals based in Edinburgh. Again, Stahov had taken his time, and Rebus doubted they'd have much use for the list – the landscape had changed since they'd first asked for it. All the same, and for want of anything better to do, he nodded and said he'd be down straight away.

But when he opened the door to the reception area, the man studying the posters on the walls was not Stahov.

It was Stuart Janney.

'Mr Janney,' Rebus said, holding out a hand and trying not to show his surprise.

'It's Detective Inspector…?'

'Rebus,' he reminded the banker.

Janney nodded, as if in apology for not having remembered. 'I'm just handing in a message.' He'd lifted an envelope from his pocket.

'Didn't expect someone of your calibre to be on the receiving end.'

'Likewise, I didn't know you ran errands for the Russian consulate.'

Janney managed a smile. 'I ran into Nikolai at Gleneagles. He happened to find the envelope in his pocket… mentioned he was supposed to bring it in.'

Tou told him you'd save him the trouble?'

Janney gave a shrug. 'No big deal.'

'How was the golf?'

'I didn't play. FAB was giving a presentation, which happened to coincide with the visit by our Russian friends.'

'That is a coincidence. Anyone would think you were stalking them.'

Now Janney laughed, head back. 'Business is business, Inspector, and, lest we forget, good for Scotland.'

'True enough – that why you're keeping in with the SNP, too?

Reckon they'll be running the show next May?'

'As I said at our first encounter, the bank has to stay neutral.

On the other hand, the Nats are making a strong showing.

Independence may be a ways off, but it's probably inevitable.'

'And good for business?'

Janney gave a shrug. 'They're pledging to drop the rate of corporation tax.'

Rebus was examining the sealed envelope. 'Did Comrade Stahov happen to mention what's in here?'

'Russian nationals living locally. He said it's to do with the Todorov case. I can't really see the connection myself…' Janney let the sentence hang, as if ready for Rebus's explanation, but all Rebus did was tuck the envelope inside his jacket.

'How about Mr Todorov's bank statements?' he asked instead.

'Any further forward with them?'

'As I said, Inspector, there are procedures. Sometimes, without the benefit of an executor, the wheels grind slow…'

'So have you done any deals yet?'

'Deals?' Janney seemed not to understand.

'With these Russians I'm supposed to be tiptoeing around.'

'It's nothing to do with “tiptoeing” – we just don't want them getting the wrong idea.'

'About Scotland, you mean? A man's dead, Mr Janney – not much we can do to change that.'

The door next to the reception desk opened and DCI Macrae appeared. He was dressed in coat and scarf, ready to leave.

'Any news on the fire?' he asked Rebus.

'No, sir,' Rebus told him.

'Nothing from the post-mortem?'

'Not yet.'

'But you still think it ties to the poet fellow?'

'Sir, this is Mr Janney. He works for First Albannach Bank.'

The two men shook hands. Rebus hoped his boss would take the hint, but just in case, he added the information that Janney was going to provide details of Todorov's bank account.

'Am I to understand,' Janney said, 'that someone else has died?'

'House fire,' Macrae barked. 'Friend of Todorov's.'

'Gracious me.'

Rebus had extended his own hand towards the banker. 'Well,' he interrupted, 'thanks again for dropping by.'

“Yes,' Janney conceded, 'you must have a lot on your plate.'

'The whole help-yourself buffet,' Rebus acknowledged with a smile.

The two men shook hands. For a moment, it looked as if Macrae and the banker might leave the station together. Rebus didn't like the idea of Macrae spilling any more of the buffet, so told him he needed a word. Janney exited alone, and Rebus waited until the door had closed. But it was Macrae who spoke.

'What do you think of Goodyear?' he asked.

'Seems proficient.' Macrae seemed to be expecting some caveat, but Rebus shrugged his shoulders instead and left it at that.

'Siobhan appears to agree with you.' Macrae paused. 'There'll be a few changes to the team when you retire.'

Tes, sir.'

'I reckon Siobhan's about ready for a step-up to inspector.'

'She's been ready for years.'

Macrae nodded to himself. 'What was it you wanted to speak to me about?' he eventually asked..'It'll keep, sir,' Rebus assured him. He watched the boss head for

the exit and considered stepping into the car park for a smoke. But instead, he headed back upstairs, tearing open the envelope and studying the names. There were a couple of dozen, but no other details – nothing like addresses or a list of occupations. Stahov had been scrupulous to the point of adding his own name at the very bottom – maybe he'd done it for a laugh, knowing the sheet itself was of no possible use to the inquiry. But as Rebus pushed open the door to the CID suite, he saw that Hawes and Tibbet were on their feet, keen to tell him something.