‘Christ, man, are you all right?’

His nose and lips were wet. He wiped at them. The photos on the desk were wet too. He knew he’d been crying and pulled out a handkerchief. Jack put the mug and roll down and rested an arm along his shoulders, squeezing gently.

‘Don’t know what’s up with me,’ Rebus said, blowing his nose.

‘Yes you do,’ Jack said quietly.

‘Yes, I do,’ Rebus acknowledged. He gathered up the photographs and newspapers and stuffed them all back into their boxes. ‘Stop looking at me like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘I wasn’t talking to you.’

Jack lifted his backside on to a desk. ‘Not many defences left, have you?’

‘Doesn’t look like it.’

‘Time to get your act together.’

‘Ach, Stanley and Eve won’t be here for a while yet.’

‘You know that’s not —’

‘I know, I know. And you’re right: time to get my act together. Where do I start? No, don’t tell me – the Juice Church?’

Jack just shrugged. ‘Your decision.’

Rebus picked up the roll and bit into it. A mistake: the block in his throat made it hard to swallow. He gulped at the coffee, managed to finish the roll – bland ham and wet tomato. Then remembered he had to make another call: a Shetland number.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he told Jack.

In the toilets he washed his face. Tiny red veins had burst in the whites of his eyes; he looked like he’d been on a bender.

‘Stone cold sober,’ he told himself, heading back to the telephone.

Briony, Jake Harley’s girlfriend, picked up.

‘Is Jake there?’ Rebus asked.

‘No, sorry.’

‘Briony, we met the other day, DI Rebus.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Has he been in touch?’

A long pause. ‘Sorry, I missed that. The line’s not great.’

It sounded just fine to Rebus. ‘I said, has he been in touch?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘That’s what I said.’ Edgy now.

‘OK, OK. Aren’t you a bit worried?’

‘What about?’

‘Jake.’

‘Why should I be?’

‘Well, he’s been off on his own longer than intended. Maybe something’s happened.’

‘He’s all right.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just do!’ Almost shouting now.

‘Calm down. Look, why don’t I get —’

‘Just leave us alone!’ The phone died on him.

Us. Leave us alone. Rebus stared at the receiver.

‘I could hear her from over here,’ Jack said. ‘Sounds like she’s cracking up.’

‘I think she is.’

‘Boyfriend trouble?’

‘Boyfriend in trouble.’ He put the receiver down. There was an incoming call.

‘DI Rebus.’

It was the front desk, telling him the first of his visitors had arrived.

Eve looked much as she had that night in the bar of Rebus’s hotel – dressed for business in a two-piece suit, conservative blue rather than vamp red, and with the gold jewellery on wrists, fingers and neck, and the same gold clasp pulling back her peroxide hair. She had a handbag with her, and tucked it under her arm as she clipped on her visitor’s pass.