Cafferty’s face had grown stonier, his jaw clenched. He managed to loosen it, angling his head so he could make eye contact with Andrew.

‘Take this bastard downstairs – and keep an eye on him until he’s out the door. Then get your arse back here pronto so I can go indoors and start thawing out.’

Rebus stared at him a moment longer, knowing there’d be no more conversation. ‘You’re not getting that money back,’ he said. ‘And I’ll keep on digging – to get the answers I want rather than whatever it is you’re after.’ He could sense Andrew standing behind him. ‘Another hour or two up here and you’d be doing the world a favour,’ he added.

In place of an answer, Andrew took him by the arm and started marshalling him towards the stairwell. As they passed through the living area, Rebus wrenched himself free and headed for the coffee table. He got there three seconds before his minder. The grip on his arm was tighter this time as it steered him to the front door. Rebus was content to let it happen. He’d seen what he’d expected to see.

Both the photograph and the envelope it had come in were gone.

Day Five

16

As Clarke entered the MIT office, she saw that Trask was hovering by her desk. When she spotted Clarke, the DCI stomped towards her, guiding her back into the corridor.

‘You’re late.’

‘Maybe five minutes – I was here till almost ten last night.’ Clarke saw that they were heading in the direction of the two interview rooms. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Not enough space in my office,’ Trask said, pulling open the door to IV2. Two men were seated within. Clarke recognised Fox, but not the other. They could have been cut from the same cloth, though. She knew Gartcosh when she saw it. The man she didn’t know rose to his feet and offered his chair, there being only three in the room. But Trask waved his offer aside and nodded for Clarke to take the one remaining seat while she stayed on her feet.

‘I’m Geoff Dickinson,’ the man told Clarke by way of introduction. He was in his forties, well fed and with sleek salt-and-pepper hair. He looked to Clarke like a middle-ranking executive or poli­tician.

‘Serious and Organised Crime,’ Trask explained.

Clarke wished she’d picked up a coffee en route. She had slept almost too deeply and still felt leaden. ‘Busy enough these days?’ she asked Dickinson.

‘One hundred and twelve active criminal gangs currently working in Scotland, comprising around two and a half thousand members – what do you think?’

I think you’ve had a sense-of-humour bypass, she didn’t quite say out loud.

‘Malcolm here,’ Trask explained, sounding not altogether happy about it, ‘has been keeping ACC Lyon up to speed on the case, and she felt inclined to pass word on to Geoff.’