‘There was this addict we’d pulled in; a spell behind bars loomed. But he had something to trade, a rumour about where Cafferty stashed at least some of his ill-gotten gains.’ He paused again. ‘An everyday flat in a tenement on Constitution Street. The one property he owned that was never rented out. So we went and took a look. The door it had on it was like something out of Fort Knox. That’s when we knew we weren’t being spun a line. How to get in, though, that was the question. Wait until someone came along and unlocked it? Francis had a better idea. We went around the back of the building. Nothing much there but a shared drying green and a lot of bins. Francis took one look at the drainpipe and knew it was the route in. He was bloody fit, I’ll give him that. Said he’d always been a dab hand with the climbing ropes in the school gym. Up he went, pulled on a glove and punched the window in. We kept lookout, but you know what it’s like – nobody saw or heard anything. Francis clambered inside. He told me after, it was candy from a baby. Bin bags stuffed with banknotes. He dropped them down to us, then shinned back down the pipe.’

‘How much did you get?’

‘Plenty. We all decided when we split it that Francis should get a bit extra for his efforts. And that was that.’

‘It wasn’t, though, was it?’

Fleck exhaled loudly through his nose. ‘I’m not sure how, but Cafferty started hearing who it was that might’ve ripped him off. I knew I had to go have a word.’

‘With me riding shotgun?’

‘I suppose that’s one way of putting it. I made it clear to him that any reprisals would be very bad news for him. He should think of it as a business write-off. Chalk it up to experience and maybe put some bars on that window.’

‘He couldn’t have been thrilled.’

‘He wasn’t.’

‘No payback, though?’

‘The junkie, the one who told us? Someone tipped off Organised Crime that he had a stash of weapons in his flat. There was a raid. Half a dozen shonky handguns retrieved. He went down for it, swearing they’d been planted. He’d only been inside a couple of weeks when someone walked into his cell and tried cutting his throat.’

‘Tried?’

‘He pulled through. Got himself cut again a few months later, survived that too.’

‘Cafferty taking it out on the one person who couldn’t retaliate?’

‘I always thought you knew,’ Fleck mused.

‘About the money?’ Rebus shook his head.

‘I reckoned that was why you never felt the need to ask about it.’

Rebus grew thoughtful. ‘Would the Mackenzies have known?’

‘About Francis specifically? I don’t think so.’

‘But they know the flat’s history?’