Rebus shifted in his chair. Lately, he didn't enjoy Father Leary's conversations so much. There was something proselytising about them. `So when do we get down to business?’ he said.

Father Leary smiled. `The Protestant work ethic.’

`You haven't brought me here to convert me.’

'We wouldn't want a dour bugger like you. Besides, I’d more easily convert a fifty-yard penalty in a Murrayfield crosswind.’

He took a swipe at the air. 'Ach, it's not really your problem. Maybe it isn't a problem at all.’

He ran a finger down the crease in his trouser-leg.

`You can still tell me about it.’

`A reversal of roles, eh? Well, I suppose that's what I had in mind all along.’

He sat further forward in the deckchair, the material stretching and sounding a sharp note of complaint. `Here it is then. You know Pilmuir?’

`Don't be daft.’

`Yes, stupid question. And Pilmuir's Garibaldi Estate?’

'The Gar-B, it's the roughest scheme in the city, maybe in the country.’

`There are good people there, but you're right. That's why the Church sent an outreach worker.’

`And now he's in trouble?’

`Maybe.’

Father Leary finished his drink. `It was my idea. There's a community hall on the estate, only it had been locked up for months. I thought we could reopen it as a youth club.’

`For Catholics?’

'For both faiths.’

He sat back in his chair. 'Even for the faithless. The Garibaldi is predominantly Protestant, but there are Catholics there too. We got agreement, and set up some funds. I knew we needed someone special, someone really dynamic in charge.’

He punched the air. `Someone who might just draw the two sides together.’

Mission impossible, thought Rebus. This scheme will self-destruct in ten seconds.

Not least of the Gar-B's problems was the sectarian divide or the lack of one, depending on how you looked at it.