Rebus nodded. ‘The photo looked like it was shot on a phone. It showed the profile of a man. He was standing in a room and behind him was some fairly distinctive wallpaper, identical to that found at the murder scene.’

‘You visited the locus?’ Leighton asked.

‘Let’s not go there,’ Clarke warned her. Then, turning to Rebus, ‘You’re saying it’s Francis Haggard in the photo?’

‘I can’t be certain, Siobhan. You’ve seen him recently, not me.’

Clarke took the hint and summoned him over. Esson handed them a mug of tea each while Leighton retrieved two more for her and Gamble. On Clarke’s screen was a shot of the murder scene. As Rebus watched over her shoulder, she found one from close range and zoomed in. Rebus studied the face, not that he really needed to.

‘I’m pretty sure,’ he said.

‘So why was Cafferty sent a photo of Francis Haggard?’ Esson asked.

‘And who sent it to him?’ Leighton added.

‘If only there were detectives in the room who could establish answers to these excellent questions,’ Rebus said, taking a slurp of tea and heading back to Fox’s desk.

‘What were you doing at Cafferty’s?’ Esson asked.

‘I pick up his pension from the post office.’

‘Really, though?’ she persisted.

Rebus glanced in Clarke’s direction. She didn’t seem in the least bit surprised when all he did was offer a shrug.

‘Does Cafferty know you know?’ she asked.

‘Might have slipped out in passing,’ Rebus admitted.

‘Bang goes any element of surprise.’ She paused. ‘It’s him, isn’t it? Cafferty? He’s got you looking for Jack Oram?’

‘Who Cafferty says was seen in the vicinity of the QC Lettings office and whose son just happens to work for them,’ Rebus said.

‘Hang on,’ Gamble broke in. ‘I know that name – Cafferty had him topped four or five years back.’

‘Turns out not to be the case,’ Rebus enlightened him. ‘Jack Oram was living and breathing right here in Edinburgh three weeks ago. And by the way, the guy who owns QC Lettings, Fraser Mackenzie, was trying to get past the cordon earlier so he could check his property. Haggard was renting one of the best flats on the company’s books.’

‘Food for thought,’ George Gamble concluded, drumming his fingers against his shirt front.

Clarke checked a text that had just arrived. ‘On their way back from the fiscal’s office,’ she announced to the room. Her eyes fixed on Rebus.

‘Time to skedaddle, eh?’ he said. ‘Thanks for the tea, Christine. Keep practising.’ He rose to his feet, Clarke following him from the room.

‘What do you think it all means?’ she asked once they were out of earshot. He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Jack Oram,’ she persisted. ‘What is it Cafferty wants with him exactly?’