Tommy Oram – Rebus was sure it was him – angled his head downwards, suddenly very interested in the outline of each key he was holding. He had a wavy mop of dark hair and a long, sharp face with pronounced cheekbones. Rebus could imagine him fronting a band. He had enough presence to pull it off.

‘My dad’s gone,’ the young man said, blood rising to his neck.

‘Look, Tommy – it is Tommy, isn’t it? – he’s not in any trouble, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just need a quiet word with him.’

‘I told you he’s gone.’

‘And I’m telling you he’s back.’ Rebus slid his hands into his pockets and offered a shrug. ‘We’ve met before, in the Moorfoot, when I was showing everyone his photo. You did a pretty good job of looking oblivious.’

‘What else was I going to do?’

‘Who was the lassie you were with?’

‘Just a pal.’

‘Gaby Mackenzie?’

‘No.’ Tommy Oram paused. ‘How do you know about Gaby?’

‘I’m good at my job.’

‘There’s nothing I can tell you.’

‘You sure about that, son?’

‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘I told you, my name’s John Rebus.’

A light went on behind Tommy Oram’s eyes. ‘He talked about you. I used to play pool after school, and I remember that name being mentioned around the tables. Cafferty had some cops in his pocket, kept them sweet, and you were one of them.’ He broke off as he studied Rebus. ‘You look too old, though.’

‘I’ve been out of the force a while. And I was never in Cafferty’s pocket.’

‘He had my dad bumped off – did you know that?’

Rebus took a moment to form a response. ‘It’s actually Cafferty who asked me to find your dad – so he can apologise.’

‘Oh aye.’ The young man sounded rightly disbelieving. ‘Like that makes sense.’ Rebus was almost ready to agree with him, though he didn’t say as much.

‘Who do you think sent that envelope of cash to your mum?’

‘Not my dad, that’s for sure.’

‘Cafferty, then?’

‘That’s what Mum says. Didn’t stop her spending it, though.’

‘If you do see your dad—’

‘I keep telling you!’ The young man’s voice had risen so much that a dog somewhere nearby sent up a complaint.

‘Easy, son.’

Tommy Oram’s eyes had gone glassy, as though he might be near to tears. ‘You say you’re not Cafferty’s man, but here you are working for him.’ His face twisted. ‘Apologise to my dad? He had him killed for skimming a few lousy grand. That’s who your boss is, and I’m done talking here.’ He opened the van again and got in, slamming the door shut after him. Jammed the key into the ignition but didn’t turn it. Instead, he took out his phone, checking for messages or sending one.