'Then you should be clued up enough to tell me what I've seen him in.' Detective Sergeant Siobhan Clarke got out of the car and slammed shut the door.

'He was the bad guy in a lot of Westerns,' Rebus persisted.

Clarke showed her warrant card to one of the uniforms and took a proffered torch from the younger of the two. The Scene-of-Crime unit was on its way. Spectators had started gathering, drawn to the scene by the patrol car's blue beacon. Rebus and Clarke had been working late at Gayfield Square police station, hammering out a theory – but no prime suspect – in an unsolved investigation.

Both had been glad of the break provided by the summons. They'd arrived in Rebus's wheezing Saab 900, from the boot of which he was now fetching polythene overshoes and latex gloves. It took him half a dozen noisy attempts to slam shut the lid.

'Need to trade it in,' he muttered.

'Who'd want it?' Clarke asked, pulling on the gloves. Then, when he didn't answer: 'Were those hiking boots I glimpsed?'

'As old as the car,' Rebus stated, heading towards the corpse.

The two detectives fell silent, studying the figure and its surroundings.

'Someone's done a job on him,' Rebus eventually commented. He turned towards the younger constable. 'What's your name, son?'

'Goodyear, sir… Todd Goodyear.'

Todd?'

'Mum's maiden name, sir,' Goodyear explained.

'Ever heard of Jack Palance, Todd?'

'Wasn't he in Shane?

Tfou're wasted in uniform.'

Goodyear's colleague chuckled. 'Give young Todd here half a chance and it's you he'll be grilling rather than any suspects.'

'How's that?' Clarke asked.

The constable – at least fifteen years older than his partner and maybe three times the girth – nodded towards Goodyear. 'I'm not good enough for Todd,' he explained. 'Got his eyes set on CID.'

Goodyear ignored this. He had his notebook in his hand. Want us to start taking details?' he asked. Rebus looked towards the pavement.