‘Well, no promises, Siobhan. My fans have an insatiable appetite.’

‘And bigger platefuls every time?’

‘You better believe it.’

She opened her eyes again, staring at the fireplace in front of her and the sleeping TV screen to its left in which she could see herself reflected.

‘It just got me thinking,’ she said. ‘Hanging around outside hotels with a camera – it’s not your usual style. In fact, it’s more something a private eye might do, employed by a spouse who suspected their partner of cheating.’

‘You’re good.’

‘Stephanie Pelham had someone tailing her husband?’

‘I can’t possibly comment.’ Clarke could hear the suds lapping around Smith as she moved position in the bath.

‘Why would she give the photos to you, though?’

‘To maximise the punishment, I’d guess, by which I mean his embarrassment. Coming back to these attacks, though – they’ve got to be connected, right? Our city’s Mr Big has left the stage. Lots of second-rate actors thinking they have a shot at stardom. I don’t envy you the job of sweeping the theatre clean afterwards.’

‘Well, that’s cheered me up. Have you been in touch with Stephanie about her sister?’

‘I told you, I’ve been steering clear.’

‘So nothing you can tell me about the relationship?’

‘Between Cheryl and her abuser?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not a thing – is there something you’re not telling me?’

‘No.’

‘Sure about that?’

‘Moderately sure.’

‘Then I’ll leave you to it while I get out of this water. Just remember to nail him, Siobhan. Nail him to the wall.’

Clarke listened to the phone go dead. She knew she could make another call, check whether Haggard had turned up yet. Or she could go there herself and sit in her car and wait.

‘That’s what you’d have done, isn’t it, back in the day?’ she asked, as if Rebus were standing in front of her.

It took her several minutes to decide that she would go to bed instead.

Day Three

7

Next morning, as he waited at a red light on his way to QC Lettings, Rebus texted Clarke to ask if there was any news of Haggard. When a message arrived, however, it was from a number he didn’t recognise.

No winnings for me yesterday. Talked to a punter who knew Jack. He saw him across the road from his old house. Went to say hello but Jack ignored him and walked off. Says he was just staring at the house. Keep eating the rolls. Ralph

The ex-baker from the betting shop. So now he had two people who’d ID’d Jack Oram, alive and kicking. As he was parking on Lasswade Road, he got a reply from Clarke too, a single word.

Nothing.

He was hoping for better from QC Lettings.