‘Listen …’ The Tony El story had woken Shankley up. He sat forward in his chair. ‘Look, I’m … I …’

‘Take your time, Hank.’

Jack asked him if he wanted something to drink. Shankley nodded. ‘Cola or something.’

‘Fetch me one, too, Jack,’ Rebus said. Jack went down the hall to the machine. Rebus bided his time, pacing the room, giving Shankley time to decide how much he was going to tell and with how much gloss. Jack came back, tossed one can at Shankley, handed the other to Rebus, who pulled it open and drank. It wasn’t a real drink. It was cold and way too sweet, and the only kick it would give him was from caffeine rather than alcohol. He saw Jack watching him, screwed up his face in reply. He wanted a cigarette, too. Jack read the look, shrugged.

‘Now then,’ Rebus said. ‘Do you have a story for us, Hank?’

Shankley burped, nodded. ‘It’s like you said. He told me he was here to do a job. Said he had Glasgow connections.’

‘What did he mean by that?’

Shankley shrugged. ‘Never asked.’

‘Did he mention Aberdeen at all?’

Shankley shook his head. ‘Glasgow was what he said.’

‘Continue.’

‘He offered me fifty notes to find him a place where he could take someone. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said ask a few questions, maybe give them a doing. That was all. We waited outside this block of flats, quite posh.’

‘The Financial District?’

Another shrug. ‘Between Lothian Road and Haymarket.’ That was it. ‘Saw this young guy come out, and we followed him. For a while, we just watched, then Tony said it was time to strike up his acquaintance.’

‘And?’

‘Well, we got chatting to him, like. I got to enjoying myself, forgot what was happening. Tony looked like he’d forgotten, too. I thought maybe he was going to call it off. Then we went outside for a taxi, and when the young guy couldn’t see us, he gave me a look, and I knew it was still on. But I swear, I only thought the kid was for a kicking.’

‘Not so.’

‘No.’ Shankley’s voice dropped. ‘Tony had a bag with him. When we got to the flat, he brought out tape and stuff. Tied the kid to the chair. He had a plastic sheet, put a bag over the kid’s head.’ Shankley’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, took another swallow of cola. ‘Then he started taking stuff out of the bag, tools, you know, like a joiner would use. Saws and screwdrivers and that.’

Rebus looked to Jack Morton.

‘And that’s when I realised the plastic sheet was to catch the blood, the kid wasn’t just getting a kicking.’

‘Tony planned to torture him?’

‘I suppose so. I don’t know … maybe I’d’ve tried to stop him. I’ve never done anything like that before. I mean, I’ve doled it out in my time, but never …’