‘I have to make a phone call,’ Rebus said, rising. The public phone was beside the front door; he’d be in view of the table. Ancram nodded.

‘What’s the problem?’ he said.

‘Today’s Sunday, I should’ve been at church. The minister will be worried.’

‘This bacon’s easier to swallow than that.’ Ancram stabbed his fork at the offending article. But he let Rebus go.

Rebus made the call, hoped he’d have enough change: Sunday, cheap rate. Someone at Grampian Police HQ picked up.

‘DCI Grogan, please,’ Rebus said, his eyes on Ancram. The restaurant was busy with Sunday drivers and their families; no chance of Ancram hearing him.

‘I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment.’

‘This is about Johnny Bible’s latest victim. I’m in a phone-box and money’s tight.’

‘Hold on, please.’

Thirty seconds. Ancram watching him, frowning. Then: ‘DCI Grogan speaking.’

‘It’s Rebus.’

Grogan sucked in breath. ‘What the hell do you want?’

‘I want to do you a favour.’

‘Oh aye?’

‘It could make your career.’

‘Is this your idea of a joke? Because let me tell you —’

‘No joke. Did you hear what I said about Eve and Stanley Toal?’

‘I heard.’

‘Are you going to do anything?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Make it a definite … as a favour to me.’

‘And then you’ll do me this premier-league favour of yours?’

‘That’s right.’

Grogan coughed, cleared his throat. ‘All right,’ he said.

‘For real?’

‘I keep my promises.’

‘Then listen. I’ve just seen a photo of Johnny’s latest victim.’

‘And?’

‘And I’ve seen her before.’

A moment’s silence. ‘Where?’

‘She was walking into Burke’s Club one night as Lumsden and I were leaving.’

‘So?’

‘So she was on the arm of someone I knew.’

‘You know a lot of people, Inspector.’

‘Which doesn’t mean I’m connected to Johnny Bible. But maybe the man on her arm is.’

‘Do you have a name for him?’

‘Hayden Fletcher, works for T-Bird Oil. Public relations.’

Grogan was writing it down. ‘I’ll look into it,’ he said.

‘Don’t forget your promise.’

‘Did I make a promise? I don’t recall.’ The line went dead. Rebus wanted to hammer the receiver, but Ancram was watching, and besides there were children nearby, drooling over a toy display and devising plans of attack on their parents’ pockets. So he replaced the receiver just like any other human being and walked back to the table. The driver got up and went outside, didn’t once look at Rebus, so Rebus knew he was under orders.

‘Everything OK?’ Ancram asked.

‘Hunky dory.’ Rebus sat down opposite Ancram. ‘So when does the inquisition begin?’

‘As soon as we can find a vacant torture chamber.’ They both ended up smiling. ‘Look, Rebus, personally I don’t give a midge’s IQ what happened twenty years ago between your pal Geddes and this Lenny Spaven. I’ve seen villains stitched up before: you can’t nail them for the thing you know they did, so you nail them for something else, something they didn’t do.’ He shrugged. ‘It happens.’