‘Well then, let’s talk about Cafferty. But that requires some chat about Fraser Mackenzie first. Your old colleague Francis Haggard needed a place to stay, and he went straight to Mackenzie. I’ve been pondering why, and the simplest answer is that he knew he’d get a good deal. All he had to do was say he was a cop from Tynecastle. Now, I’ve started hearing some stories about Mackenzie, and things are clicking into place. Same sort of deal you had with Cafferty you now have with Mackenzie. But here’s the thing – someone took a photo of Francis Haggard in that flat on Constitution Street and sent it to Cafferty. Why would they do that? Is it to do with Haggard or the flat? Or maybe a bit of both?’

Rebus waited in silence, biding his time, until Alan Fleck rose to his feet, seemingly with infinite slowness, and nodded towards the door.

‘Best take this outside, John,’ he stated, leading the way.

By the time Rebus joined him, he was ten yards along the pavement from the pub, standing by a low wall belonging to a car wash. The car wash itself was closed, its forecourt unlit. Fleck had pulled up the collar of his coat. As soon as Rebus arrived, he began to talk.

‘Before we start, I need to know this goes no further. We’re clearing the air here, putting your mind at rest. If it gets back to Fox, Clarke or anyone else, I’ll know the source.’

‘Say what you’ve got to say.’ But Rebus saw that Fleck was prepared to wait. ‘Okay, just between us, then.’

‘You’d swear on your granddaughter’s life?’ Fleck saw Rebus’s face turn stony. ‘Theoretically, I mean.’

‘I’m giving you my word. Time was, that would have been enough.’

‘Things have changed, though, haven’t they, and people with them?’ Fleck paused, looking to left and right. ‘It was seven years back,’ he began. ‘You remember that meeting I had you set up with Cafferty? What I didn’t tell you was I wanted you there as protection.’

‘Protection from what?’