‘That’s because you don’t know what he needed the money for. His brother, Paul, died of cancer. Left a wife, two kids and precious little in the bank. Jack wanted to help, whatever it took.’

‘Are you asking me to believe you’ve suddenly grown a conscience?’

‘I just want to tell him to his face that I’m sorry for what happened.’

‘So have your gofer go fetch him.’

‘I could do that, but seeing how you’re to blame for what happened to him …’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Four and a bit years back, you were drinking in some pub, got chatting to a guy called Eric Linn. Ring a bell?’

‘I’ve met a lot of people in a lot of pubs.’

‘The two of you had a mutual acquaintance, Albert Cousins, snitch of yours from back in the day. Linn asked if you still saw him. You said no, but you’d heard he was losing a bit too much at after-hours poker games in the Potter’s Bar.’ Cafferty broke off. ‘Anything?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Well, Eric knew I had a stake in the bar and he reckoned I might be interested, which I was, because nobody had thought to tell me about these wee sessions. Jack Oram had been holding back, not cutting me in. That got me doing some digging, and it started to look a lot like he’d been skimming from the pool hall, too. Lucky for him, he got wind I’d be wanting a word.’ Cafferty paused again. ‘All because your mouth got a bit slack in a bar one night.’

Rebus was silent for a moment. It was true about Albert Cousins and his gambling. Rebus couldn’t have known not to mention it in conversation. All the same …

‘The streets have changed,’ Cafferty was saying. ‘I’ve not got the eyes and ears I once had.’

‘Neither have I.’

‘But you still know your way around, and you’ve got time on your hands.’

‘I’m a bit long in the tooth to play Humphrey Bogart.’ Rebus got to his feet and retraced his steps to the window. He heard the whirr of the wheelchair’s motor as Cafferty followed him.

‘I’m on the way out,’ Cafferty said quietly. ‘You noticed as soon as you walked in here. Those bullets did too much damage.’ He suddenly looked tired. ‘I just feel bad about Oram. I can’t explain it exactly, why him and none of the others. And there’s money in it, of course.’ He was gesturing towards a wall unit. ‘Envelope there with some cash in it. You wouldn’t be Humphrey Bogart if you didn’t take it.’

‘Any chance of a femme fatale on the side?’

‘No promises, but who knows what you’ll turn up. It’s got to be better than festering in that flat of yours.’

‘I’m halfway through another jigsaw, though. Sergeant Pepper, a thousand pieces.’