Like landing on concrete.

Was that better or worse than landing on spikes? He had decisions to make; his pursuers weren’t far behind. They were never far behind, yet he always stayed in front of them, even wounded. I could get out of this, he thought.

I could get out of this!

A voice directly behind him: ‘In your dreams.’ Then a push out into space.

Rebus started awake so suddenly his head hit the car roof. His body surged with fear and adrenalin.

‘Christ,’ Ancram said from the driver’s seat, regaining control of the steering-wheel, ‘what happened?’

‘How long was I asleep?’

‘I didn’t realise you were.’

Rebus looked at his watch: maybe only a couple of minutes. He rubbed his face, told his heart it could stop hammering any time it liked. He could tell Ancram it was a bad dream; he could tell him it was a panic attack. But he didn’t want to tell him anything. Until proven otherwise, Ancram was the enemy as surely as any gun-toting thug.

‘What were you saying?’ he said instead.

‘I was outlining the deal.’

‘The deal, right.’ The Sunday papers had slid from Rebus’s lap. He picked them off the floor. Johnny Bible’s latest outrage had made only one front page; the others had been printed too early.

‘Right now, I’ve enough against you to have you suspended,’ Ancram said. ‘Not such an unusual situation for you, Inspector.’

‘I’ve been there before.’

‘Even if I overlook the Johnny Bible questions, there’s still the matter of your distinct lack of cooperation with my inquiries into the Spaven case.’

‘I had flu.’

Ancram ignored this. ‘We both know two things. First, a good cop is going to get into trouble from time to time. I’ve had complaints made against me in the past. Second, these TV programmes almost never uncover new evidence. It’s all speculation and maybes, whereas a police investigation is meticulous, and the gen we gather is passed to the Crown Office and pored over by what are supposed to be some of the finest criminal lawyers in the country.’

Rebus turned in his seat to study Ancram, wondering where this was leading. In the mirror, he could see his own car being driven with due care and attention by Ancram’s lackey. Ancram kept his eyes on the road.

‘See, John, what I’m saying is, why run when you’ve nothing to fear?’

‘Who says I’ve nothing to fear?’

Ancram smiled. The old pals routine was just that – a routine. Rebus trusted Ancram the way he’d trust a paedophile in a play-park. All the same, when Uncle Joe had lied about Tony El, it was Ancram who’d come up with the Aberdeen info … Whose side was the man on? Was he playing a double game? Or had he just thought Rebus wouldn’t get anywhere, info or no info? Was it a way of covering up that he was in Uncle Joe’s pocket?

‘If I’m hearing you right,’ Rebus said, ‘you’re saying I’ve nothing to fear from the Spaven case?’