Andrew patted him down without saying anything. Once he’d finished, he met Rebus’s eyes. ‘You were probably a piece of work in your day.’

‘I held my own against your employer, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Changed times, though.’

‘As a man called Dylan once sang.’

‘Who?’

Rebus gave a theatrical sigh before starting down the long hallway.

‘I want him kept on the leash,’ Cafferty warned. He was seated by the window. A trolley table had been placed in front of him, a newspaper open on it alongside a hot drink and his phone. ‘I take it there’s news,’ he said, his focus on the day’s headlines.

‘Oram’s been seen,’ Rebus obliged, ‘though not for a few weeks. His son seems to think he got wind you were looking for him and headed for the hills again. Makes me wonder if I’m the first person you’ve had working on it.’

‘How wounded would your pride be if you weren’t?’ Cafferty paused, hands resting on the newspaper. ‘What makes you so sure the son’s not spinning you a story?’

‘He wouldn’t be the only one, would he?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘There was no love lost between Oram and his brother. The son reckons his dad wouldn’t have handed over a bean.’

Cafferty made a noise at the back of his throat. He folded the paper closed and focused on Rebus. ‘You’ve been busy, I’ll grant you.’

‘I even went to QC Lettings, your old stamping ground. Nobody there seems to have had dealings with Jack Oram, though there is one Oram they know – the son works for them.’

‘News to me.’ Cafferty’s fleshy brow furrowed. ‘He never gave that money to the family?’

‘Who told you he did?’

But Cafferty wasn’t about to answer. Brillo had stopped sniffing his immediate surroundings and sent up a quiet mewl of complaint.

‘Mind if I give him some water?’

It took Cafferty a moment to make up his mind. ‘One of the yellow bowls, cupboard above the sink. I never use them.’

‘Dinner parties only?’

Cafferty was studying the back page of the paper, filled with sports coverage. ‘Siobhan still a Hibs fan?’ he asked.

‘Far as I know.’