‘To cut to the chase, I’ve not got it. Car’s parked outside if you want to check. Boot’s been jemmied open and is now well and truly shagged. I’m amazed I made it here without getting pulled over.’

‘Who took it?’

‘He works for Cafferty. Name’s Andrew. Drives a white Audi.’

‘Fuck,’ Crosbie muttered. Beecham looked at him.

‘You know him? This Andrew?’

‘Didn’t realise he belonged to Cafferty.’

‘Well,’ said Rebus, trying to sound matter-of-fact, ‘I’ll leave you to go tell Beth Mackenzie you need to pay Cafferty a call.’

‘You’re going nowhere,’ Beecham stated. ‘Except maybe to hang out with Jack Oram.’

Rebus scratched at his chin, taking his time. ‘Funny, isn’t it,’ he said, trying to keep his tone conversational, the words directed at Beecham, ‘you working for Mackenzie so you can keep paying off Cafferty? I don’t suppose you do very much other than turn a blind eye when deals are being done and hand over crates of empties for use as petrol bombs. But all that makes you is a hamster on a wheel. Reckon you’ve got the balls to go fetch that consignment from Cafferty, or will Beth require the big guns? And there’s another thing – neither of you has mentioned Fraser Mackenzie yet. He’s not even in the picture, is he?’

‘What does it matter?’ Beecham said.

‘I don’t like the idea of going to my grave with unanswered questions, that’s all.’ Rebus turned his head towards Crosbie. ‘You’re not an ex-con – you wouldn’t have got the licence here if you were – so I’m guessing you were either army or police.’

‘Army.’

‘Ever serve in Northern Ireland? Me too. Explains why you know your way around a petrol bomb. But that was a friend of mine you nearly killed – and for what?’

‘Crosbie never can say no when a skirt asks,’ Beecham answered.

‘Shut it, you,’ Crosbie snarled.

‘So the world of the nightclub bouncer beckoned,’ Rebus went on, ‘which was fine until lockdown. Was it mother or daughter who reeled you in?’

‘Fuck do you care?’

‘I’m just working my way up to why you felt the need to kill Jack Oram.’

‘He was drunk and mouthy,’ Beecham said. ‘Turned physical. Not a good combo when Crosbie is in one of his moods.’

Rebus gave a slow nod. ‘One problem dealt with. Might not be so easy with me, though.’

‘You think people care about a washed-up ex-cop?’ Beecham asked with a sneer.

‘I didn’t mean it like that. Hang on, let me show you my phone …’