‘So it was a shot across the bows?’

‘You think otherwise?’

‘John, I don’t know what to think.’ He heard her give a sigh. ‘How about you – up to anything I should know about?’

‘Shopping for tools.’

‘Gardening or DIY?’

‘I’m in the market for a nice big crowbar.’

‘That sounds promising – will you keep me posted?’

‘I imagine I will.’

‘How soon till we can talk again?’

‘Could be tonight, maybe tomorrow.’

‘For a man your age, you give good phone sex,’ Smith told him, ending the call.

Rebus looked down at Brillo, seated at his feet. ‘Didn’t I tell you I’ve still got it, eh?’ he told the dog, before pulling himself to his feet and going to fetch the car keys.

They’d all had a look at the footage from the casino, including King and Ritchie, who’d returned having eventually extracted a usable statement from their long-winded taxi driver.

‘Swear to God,’ King had said, ‘all we asked him was how long he’d been working the cabs, and he was three generations deep into his family tree before we could stop him.’

‘His dad drove the cabs,’ Ritchie had added, ‘his grandad, his uncle Billy, his cousin …’

The two young detectives had become more deflated as the after­noon had worn on, their finding of the cab trumped by first the casino and then Francis Haggard’s subsequent journey. But they had added their findings to the murder wall and stood there for some time admiring their handiwork.

Esson was studying the casino footage on her monitor. ‘How much cash did he take out, do we think?’

‘Bank statement says two hundred,’ Siobhan Clarke answered, ‘though with fees it cost him a bit more.’

‘The statement doesn’t mention Till’s?’

‘Not every punter wants their nearest and dearest knowing they had to make a withdrawal at a gaming establishment – the trans­action was kept nicely anonymous.’

‘How much did he have on him when he died?’ Esson found the details for herself. ‘Over a hundred. After he took the cash out, he settled his drinks bill and put some into a fixed-odds machine. Presumably the cab that took him away from Till’s got paid. That doesn’t leave much to spare.’

‘You reckon he went straight home?’

‘Was he in any fit state to do anything but? He’d been steering clear, reckoning we might be watching, ready to put him in custody. But by now his brain’s too full of booze fumes – where else is he going to go? He’s had one night of sleeping rough and can’t bring himself to do a second.’