‘It’s as we’ve been hearing,’ he explained. ‘Francis has gone rogue. He’s out there somewhere, nobody knows where. He can’t hide for ever, though, and when they find him, he’s going to start shooting his mouth off. Anybody catches a whiff of him, we need to know. I’d love for that to happen before we all rendezvous at the pub later. But there’s something else.’ He paused, his eyes landing in turn on every man in the room. ‘His flat in Newhaven was turned over, coke dumped on the floor.’

‘Just paying our respects, Rob.’

Driscoll stared at the speaker. ‘Was that the wisest move, Chris?’

‘He needs to know we’ve got as much on him as he has on us.’

‘Well, that’s probably backfired nicely. See, he’s not allowed within half a mile of the family home, so he’s highly unlikely to walk into your scenario. Instead, someone phoned it in, and that brought CID here, sticking their noses in. And the cherry on the top is, they now have more dirt on Francis than was previously the case, since you’ve just flagged up that he likes a bit of hokey-cokey. Giving him even more reason to grass on us to save his neck.’ Driscoll’s voice had been rising throughout, while Chris had seemed to be physically shrinking.

‘So what do we do?’ someone asked into the silence.

‘We talk tactics, maybe with a wiser head than I seem to be seeing around me here. Now bugger off, the lot of you, and give me some peace to think.’

As he watched them leave, he saw that Chris was busy on his phone. Driscoll snatched it from him. The message hadn’t quite been completed. All it said so far was How you doing? Chris grabbed it back.

‘I’m not even going to ask,’ Driscoll said.

‘Keep it that way,’ Chris said, making his exit.

Driscoll sat down heavily on one of the benches that lined the room, staring at his lap for a moment before digging his own phone out of his pocket and returning the call from earlier.

‘Catch you at a busy time?’ he heard Alan Fleck enquire.

‘Couple of visitors.’

‘To do with Francis?’

Driscoll pressed the palm of his hand against Haggard’s locker. ‘You’ve had them too?’

‘Not yet, but John Rebus paid a visit, swiftly followed by someone from Gartcosh. Seems we might be in a queue to get to Francis. But they don’t have you, Rob. If Francis will listen to anybody …’

‘I’m trying. You know the flat at Newhaven is off limits to him?’

‘Stands to reason.’

‘He’s renting a place on Constitution Street.’

‘Rebus told me.’

‘Did he tell you which building, though?’

The silence on the other end of the line lengthened. ‘You’re kidding me,’ Fleck eventually said.

‘What if I told you the flat number?’