‘He was in a bit of a mood. I happened to be passing his table and told him it might never happen.’ He kept his eyes on the photo. ‘It did, though, didn’t it?’

‘We would have appreciated you coming forward with this information, sir,’ Esson scolded him.

‘What information? That a guy sat in a pub and had a drink?’

Clarke tried to keep her tone light. ‘Did he happen to say anything else, maybe where he was headed next?’

‘Don’t think so.’ The man paused. ‘No, hang on – he saw that I had the paper folded open at the racing pages, asked me if I was a betting man. Well, I do like a wee flutter and I probably said as much. He told me he preferred casinos. Higher stakes, I think he said. Which is fine for those who can afford it, but he looked to me like he’d slept in a hedge.’

‘What time was this?’

‘Maybe four or five o’clock.’

‘My shift finishes at six,’ the barman commented.

‘And he’d left by then?’

Both men nodded. ‘Don’t ask me to swear on it,’ Colin said, ‘but he might’ve flagged down a taxi. He went out, and next thing a black cab pulls up. Unmistakable engine they’ve got. You can hear it above a ukulele, which can be a blessing in here.’

‘You love it really,’ the barman told him. Then, to Clarke and Esson, ‘He paid cash, I remember now – bit of a rarity these days. He told me to have one for myself. Speaking of which, drink on the house?’

Clarke shook her head. ‘We’ll have something, but we’ll pay our way, thanks all the same.’

They ordered fruit juices and took them to a table, sitting opposite one another.

‘Casinos?’ Esson speculated.

‘More likely he just went home,’ Clarke said.

‘He wouldn’t have needed a taxi for that.’

‘After a skinful he might.’

‘Sounds to me like he was steering clear of the flat, though, waiting for the heat to die down. He probably did sleep rough the previous night.’

‘How many casinos in the city?’ Clarke asked.

‘These days, fewer than half a dozen. Wouldn’t take us long to check.’

‘Start by phoning around with his description?’

Esson nodded. ‘But maybe take pity on those poor sods stuck in the waiting area,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘Because we’re better than them.’

‘I suppose that’s true,’ Clarke said. ‘But all the same, let’s not rush our drinks, eh?’

22

Rebus opened the door to the pub’s back room, carrying his pint of IPA with him.