Hendry looked thoughtful. ‘One thing I’ve been feeling the past couple of visits …’

‘What?’

‘A bit of edge between the sisters. Just a slight crackle, like static.’

‘The trauma of death rubbing up against the trauma of divorce?’

‘Not much sign that Stephanie is suffering. A few more weeks and she reckons she’ll be loaded. I know we’re not supposed to get attached, but I did enjoy hanging out with the pair of them.’

‘They do seem very close, edge or no edge.’

They focused on their drinks for a bit. The room was growing busier and noisier as more offices emptied and shops slid down the shutters.

‘You having another?’ Hendry asked. Clarke shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t either. Quiet night at home will make a change.’

‘I’ll probably head back to the office.’

‘You’re a glutton for punishment. Unless …’ Hendry paused for effect, ‘someone there has you smitten?’

‘No such luck.’ But Clarke’s phone was letting her know she had a message. It was from Michael Leckie. Fancy dinner some time? I categorically promise no shop talk.

‘Good news?’ Hendry nudged.

‘Might be,’ Clarke said, her fingers busy on the screen. It didn’t take long to compose her two-word reply.

Why not?

23

Ishbel Oram didn’t seem to recognise Rebus when she opened the door, which was fine by him.

‘Is Tommy in?’ he asked. She drew on her cigarette before replying.

‘He do that to you?’ She watched Rebus shake his head. From her reaction, he knew there must be swelling and bruising. His eyes felt puffy and there were still probably smears of dried blood on his upper lip and chin. ‘Didn’t think so, he’s not the type.’

‘Any idea where I could find him?’

‘Have you tried phoning?’

‘No reply,’ Rebus lied. Because phoning was what a friend would have done. Because a friend would have had Tommy’s number.

‘Pub maybe. Tell him to remember the pizza – and no bloody olives.’

‘No olives, right,’ Rebus said to the closing door. He walked around the corner to the Moorfoot and headed in. All three TV screens were tuned to the same football match, and the place was busy. Tommy Oram was in front of the one-armed bandit, not that they had arms these days. He was slapping at the flashing buttons as if his life depended on it.

‘No girlfriend tonight?’ Rebus enquired.

Tommy seemed to recognise the voice, but wasn’t about to take his eyes off the prize.

‘I told you, she’s not my girlfriend, she’s just someone I see.’

‘Your mum says no olives, by the way.’

This elicited a smile. ‘I only do it to piss her off.’

‘Fetch you a drink?’

‘Rum and Coke.’

‘You sure?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I’m just not a fan of rum, that’s all.’