‘Will you be camped here a while?’

She shrugged. ‘The way we live, who knows?’

‘You like what you’re doing?’

She gave the question serious thought. ‘It’s a life.’

Rebus smiled, moved away.

‘Inspector!’ she called. He turned back to her. Kohl was dribbling down her cheeks. ‘If everything’s so wonderful, how come everything’s so fucked up?’

Rebus didn’t have an answer to that. ‘Don’t let the sun catch you crying,’ he told her instead.

On the drive back, he tried answering her question for himself, found he couldn’t. Maybe it all had to do with balance, cause and effect. Where there was light, there must needs be dark. It sounded like the start of a sermon, and he hated sermons. He tried out his own personal mantra instead: Miles Davis, ‘So What?’ Only, it didn’t sound so clever now.

It didn’t sound clever at all.

Jack was frowning. ‘Why didn’t she come forward with any of this?’ he asked.

‘Because as far as she’s concerned, it’s got nothing to do with us. It didn’t even have anything to do with Mitch, he just blundered in.’

‘Sounded more like he was invited.’

‘An invitation he should have refused.’

‘You think Major Weir did it?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m not even sure it matters. He’s not going anywhere.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He’s in this little private hell she’s constructed for the two of them. As long as he knows she’s out there, demonstrating against everything he holds dear … that’s his punishment and her revenge. No getting away from it for either of them.’

‘Fathers and daughters, eh?’

‘Fathers and daughters,’ Rebus agreed. And past misdemeanours. And the way they refused to go away …

They were beat when they got back to the hotel.

‘Round of golf?’ Jack suggested.

Rebus laughed. ‘I could just about manage coffee and a round of sarnies.’

‘Sounds good to me. My room in ten minutes.’

Their rooms had been made up, fresh chocolates on the pillows, clean bathrobes laid out. Rebus changed quickly, then phoned reception to ask if there were any messages. He hadn’t checked before – hadn’t wanted Jack to know he was expecting one.

‘Yes, sir,’ the receptionist trilled. ‘I’ve a phone message for you here.’ Rebus’s heart rose: she hadn’t just upped and run. ‘Shall I read it to you?’

‘Please.’

‘It says, “Burke’s, half an hour after closing. Tried another time, another place, but he wasn’t having any.” There’s no name.’

‘That’s fine, thanks.’

‘You’re welcome, sir.’

Of course he was welcome: business account. The whole world sucked up to you if you were corporate. He got the outside line, tried Siobhan at home, got her machine again. Tried St Leonard’s, was told she wasn’t there. Tried her at home again, deciding this time to leave his telephone number on her machine. Halfway through, she picked up.

‘What’s the use of an answering machine when you’re home?’ he asked.

‘Call filtering,’ she said. ‘I get to check if you’re a heavy breather or not before I talk to you.’