‘Sit down!’

‘With respect, sir, I can’t. If I sit there any longer, I’m going to stick my fist in your face.’

Jack Morton covered his eyes with one hand.

‘What did you say?’

‘Wind the tape back and take a listen. And that’s why I’m up and walking: crisis management if you like.’

‘Inspector, I’d caution you —’

Rebus laughed. ‘Would you? That’s big of you, sir.’ Ancram was rising to his feet. Rebus turned away and walked to the far wall, turned round again and stopped.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘a simple question: do you want to see Uncle Joe fucked?’

‘We’re not here to —’

‘We’re here to put on a show – you know that as well as I do. The brass are sweaty about the media; they want the force to look good if that programme ever gets made. This way, everyone sits back and says there was an inquiry. TV seems to be about the only thing brass are afraid of. Villains don’t scare them, but ten minutes of negative coverage, dearie me, no. Can’t have that. All for a programme which will be stared at by a few million, half of them with the sound down, the other half not taking it in, then forgotten about the very next day. So,’ he took a deep breath, ‘simple yes or no.’ Ancram didn’t say anything, so Rebus repeated the question.

Ancram signalled for Jack to turn off the machine. Then he sat back down.

‘Yes,’ he said quietly.

‘I can see that it happens.’ Rebus kept his voice level. ‘But I don’t want you getting sole credit. If it’s anyone’s, the collar belongs to CI Templer.’ Rebus went back to his chair, propped himself on the edge of it. ‘Now I have a couple of questions.’

‘Was there a phone call?’ Ancram asked, surprising Rebus. They stared at one another. ‘Tape’s off, this is between the three of us. Was there ever a phone call?’

‘I answer yours and you answer mine?’ Ancram nodded. ‘Of course there was a phone call.’

Ancram almost smiled. ‘You liar. He came to your house, didn’t he? What did he tell you? Did he say you wouldn’t need a search warrant? You must’ve known he was lying.’

‘He was a good cop.’

‘Every time you come out with that line, it sounds thinner. What’s the matter: stopped finding it convincing?’

‘He was.’

‘But he had a problem, a little personal demon called Lenny Spaven. You were his friend, Rebus, you should have stopped him.’

‘Stopped him?’

Ancram nodded, eyes gleaming like moons. ‘You should have helped him.’

‘I tried,’ Rebus said, his voice a whisper. It was another lie: Lawson by that time had been a junkie with a craving, and only one thing would help – the taste itself.

Ancram sat back, trying not to look satisfied. He thought Rebus was cracking. The inner doubts had been sown – not for the first time. Ancram could now water them with sympathy.