Rebus took a deep breath, carved a smile into his face, and waded in.

'Magic, lads.’

'Aye, ta, pal.’

'Nae bother, eh?’

'Aye, nae bother right enough.’

'All right there, lads?’

'Fine, aye. Magic.’

Gavin MacMurray hadn't arrived yet. Maybe he was off elsewhere with his generals. But his son was on the stage pretending he held a microphone stand and a crowd's attention. Another lad clambered onto the stage and played an invisible guitar, still managing to hold his pint glass. Lager splashed over his jeans, but he didn't notice. That was professionalism for you.

Rebus watched with the smile still on his face. Eventually they gave up, as he'd known they would, there being no audience, and leapt down from the stage. Jamesie landed just in front of Rebus. Rebus held his arms wide.

'Whoah therel That was brilliant.’

Jamesie grinned. 'Aye, ta.’

Rebus slapped him on the shoulder.

'Get you another?’

'I think I'm all right, ta.’

'Fair enough.’ Rebus looked around, then leant close to Jamesie's ear. 'I see you're one of us.’

He winked.

'Eh?’

The tattoo had been covered by the leather jacket, but Rebus nodded towards it. 'The Shield,' he said slyly. Then he nodded again, catching Jamesie's eye, and moved away. He went back downstairs and ordered two pints. The bar was busy and noisy, both TV and jukebox blaring, a couple of arguments rising above even these. Half a minute later, Jamesie was standing beside him. The boy wasn't very bright, and Rebus weighed up how much he could get away with.

'How do you know?’ Jamesie asked.

'There's not much I don't know, son.’

'But I don't know you.’

Rebus smiled into his drink. 'Best keep it that way.’

'Then how come you know me?’

Rebus turned towards him. 'I just do.’

Jamesie looked around him, licking his lips. Rebus handed him one of the pints. 'Here, get this down you.’

'Ta.’

He lowered his voice. 'You're in The Shield?’

'What makes you think that?’

Now Jamesie smiled. 'How's Davey, by the way?’

'Davey?’

'Davey Soutar,' said Rebus. 'You two know each other, don't you?’

'I know Davey.’

He blinked. 'Christ, you are in The Shield. Hang on, did I see you at the parade?’

'I bloody hope so.’

Now Jamesie nodded slowly. 'I thought I saw you.’

`You're a sharp lad, Jamesie. There's a bit of your dad in you.’

'Jamesie started at this. 'He'll be here in five minutes. You don't want him to see us…’

'You're right. He doesn't know about The Shield then?’

'Of course not.’

Jamesie looked slighted.

'Only sometimes the lads tell their dads.’

'Not me.’

Rebus nodded. 'You're a good one, Jamesie. We've got our eyes on you.’

'Really?’

'Absolutely.’

Rebus supped from his pint. 'Shame about Billy.’

Jamesie became a statue, the glass inches from his lips. He recovered with effort. 'Pardon?’

'Good lad, say nothing.’

Rebus took another sup. 'Good parade, wasn't it?’

'Oh aye, the best.’

'Ever been to Belfast?’

Jamesie looked like he was having trouble keeping up with the conversation. Rebus hoped he was. 'Naw,' he said at last.

'I was there a few days ago, Jamesie. It's a proud city, a lot of good people there, our people.’

Rebus was wondering, how long can I keep this up? A couple of teenagers, probably a year or two beneath the legal drinking age, had already come to the stairs looking for Jamesie to join them.

'True,' Jamesie said.

'We can't let them down.’

'Absolutely not.’

'Remember Billy Cunningham.’

Jamesie put down his glass. 'Is this…’ his voice had become a little less confident, 'is this a… some sort of warning?’

Rebus patted the young man's arm. 'No; no, you're all right, Jamesie. It's just that the polis are sniffing around.’

It was amazing where a bit of confident bull's keech could get you.

'I'm no squealer,' said Jamesie.

The way he said it, Rebus knew. 'Not like Billy?’

'Definitely not.’

Rebus was nodding to himself when the doors burst open and Gavin MacMurray swaggered in, a couple of his generals squeezing through the doorway in his wake. Rebus became just another punter at the bar, as MacMurray slung a heavy arm around his son's neck. 'Awright, Jamesie boy?’

'Fine, Dad. My shout.’

'Three export-then. Bring them up back, aye?’

'No bother, Dad.’

Jamesie watched the three men walk to the stairs. He turned towards his confidant, but John Rebus had already left the bar.

Every chain, no matter how strong, has one link weaker than the rest. Rebus had hopes of Jamesie MacMurray, as he walked out of the Merchant's. He was halfway to his car when he saw Caro Rattray walking towards him.

'You were going to call me,' she said.

'Work's been a bit hectic.’

She looked back at the pub. 'Call that work, do you?’

He smiled. 'Do you live here?’

'On the Canongate. I've just been walking my dog.’

'Your dog?’

There was no sign of a leash, never mind the animal. She shrugged.

'I don't actually like dogs, I just like the idea of walking them. So I have an imaginary dog.’

'What's he called?’

'Sandy.’

Rebus looked down at her feet. 'Good boy, Sandy.’

'Actually, Sandy's a girl.’

'Hard to tell at this distance.’

'And I don't talk to her.’

She smiled. 'I'm not mad, you know.’

'Right, you just go walking with a pretend dog. So what are you and Sandy doing now?’

'Going home and having a drink. Fancy joining us?’

Rebus thought about it. 'Sure,' he said. 'Drive or walk?’

'Let's walk,' said Caroline Rattray. 'I don't want Sandy shedding on your seats.’

She lived in a nicely furnished flat, tidy but not obsessive. There was a grandfather clock in the hall, a family heirloom. Her surname was engraved on the brass face.

A dividing wall had been taken away so that the living room had windows to front and back A book lay open on the sofa, next to a half-finished box of shortbread. Solitary pleasures, thought Rebus.

'You're not married?’ e said.

'God, no.’

'Boyfriend?’

She smiled again. 'Funny word that, isn't it? Especially when you get to my age. I mean, a boyfriend should be in his teens or twenties.’

'Gentleman friend then,' he persisted.

'Doesn't have the same connotations though, does it?’

Rebus sighed.

'I know, I know,' she said, 'never argue with an advocate.’

Rebus looked out of the back window onto a drying green. Overhead, the few clouds were basking in the space they had. 'Sandy's digging up your flower bed.’

'What do you want to drink?’

'Tea, please.’

'Sure? I've only got decaf.’

'That's perfect.’

He meant it. While she made noises in the kitchen, he walked through the living room. Diningtable and chairs and wall units at the back, sofa, chairs, bookcases towards the front. It was a nice room. From the small front window, he looked down onto slow-walking tourists and a shop selling tartan teddy-bears.

"This is a nice part of town,' he said, not really meaning it..

'Are you kidding? Ever tried parking round here in the summer?’

'I never try parking anywhere in the summer.’

He moved away from the window. A flute and some sheet music sat on a spindly music-stand in one corner. On a unit were small framed photos of the usual gap-toothed kids and kind-looking old people.

'Family,' she said, coming back into the room. She lit a cigarette, took two deep puffs on it, then stubbed it into an ashtray, exhaling and wafting the smoke away with her hand. 'I hate smoking indoors,' she explained.

'Then why do it?’

'I smoke when I'm nervous.’