‘Well, Cafferty owned that flat for a long time, so one of them probably does.’

‘Beth, you mean?’ Rebus watched Fleck nod. ‘And is it true that Tynecastle now has an arrangement with Fraser Mackenzie?’

‘I’m a car dealer these days, John.’

‘But Mackenzie’s business is a front for dope-pushing – your pals in the Crew won’t have kept that nugget from you?’

‘I probably hear the same stories you do.’

‘Thing is, I hadn’t heard any stories, not until a few days back.’

‘City was just lying there legs open after Cafferty got shot. Someone was bound to take advantage.’

‘So what’s this photo all about?’ Rebus asked.

‘I’m every bit as intrigued as you are.’

‘Someone who reckoned Cafferty would recognise Haggard and decide to make him pay for what he’d done?’

Fleck seemed to consider the possibility. ‘One more thing, John,’ he eventually said. ‘You might not have helped us with Kyle Weller, but there’s still the Tony Barlow case. It was you who gave us the guy’s name. We went after him thinking he was a paedo. He wasn’t, though, was he? He was just someone Cafferty wanted to see get hurt. He had us in his web after that – you as much as me and everyone else. That pissed me off. In fact, it’s probably why I sanctioned the break-in. Some of the cash we took went towards Barlow’s physio.’

‘You’re all heart, Alan.’

Fleck was looking over Rebus’s shoulder. Rebus turned and saw that Driscoll and Agnew were on the pavement outside the pub, Driscoll’s face illuminated by his lighter as he lit a cigarette. The two men began to saunter towards Rebus and Fleck, trying to look casual for the benefit of passing traffic.

‘Everything all right, Sarge?’ Driscoll asked.

‘Tickety-boo,’ Fleck assured him. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, John?’

‘I’d say I’m probably a thousand light years away from agreeing,’ Rebus countered. ‘Because chances are, when I stepped into that little cabal of yours, I was in the presence of whoever murdered Francis Haggard, and that realisation gives me whatever the opposite is of a nice warm glow. Now I learn that you stole a slab of cash from Big Ger Cafferty …’

Driscoll looked at Fleck. ‘You said he knew.’

‘I thought he did.’

Driscoll turned his attention back to Rebus. ‘Stands to reason Cafferty told you.’

‘He didn’t.’

‘But you were his—’

Rebus grabbed the front of Driscoll’s jacket, shaking him. The cigarette flew from the corner of Driscoll’s mouth.

‘I was never his anything!’ Rebus snarled.

‘Easy, John,’ Fleck said.

‘Loosen that fucking grip, old-timer,’ Driscoll said, baring his teeth. His eyes were glassy and there was rum on his breath.

‘Or what?’