‘I know it’s overfished – do you want some trawler netting me?’

‘Option two,’ Fuller said, raising two fingers, ‘the mountains. Let the fucking sheep find you, nibble you clean to the bone. Plenty of options, don’t think we haven’t used them before.’ He paused. ‘Why did you come here tonight? What did you ever hope you were going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘When Eve phoned … she couldn’t hide it, it was in her voice – I knew she was shitting me, setting me up. But I have to admit, I was expecting something a little more challenging.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you.’

‘I’m glad it’s you, though, I’ve been wanting to see you again.’

‘Well, here I am.’

‘What did Eve tell you?’

‘Eve? She didn’t tell me anything.’

A roundhouse kick took time: Rebus did what he could, turned sideways on to it, caught it in the ribs. Fuller followed up with a punch to the face, his hand moving so slowly Rebus could see the scar on its back – a long ugly welt. A tooth split in half, one of his root-canal jobs. Rebus spat the tooth and some blood at Fuller, who backed off a little, impressed at the damage.

Rebus knew he was dealing with someone who at best could be termed unpredictable, at worst psychotic. Without Stemmons to keep him in check, Judd Fuller looked capable of anything.

‘All I did,’ Rebus lisped, ‘was do a deal with her. She set up the meeting with you, and I let her go.’

‘She must have told you something.’

‘She’s a hard nut to crack. I got even less from Stanley.’ Rebus tried to sound defeated: not difficult. He wanted Fuller to go for the whole story.

‘Stanley and her have gone off together?’ Fuller chuckled again. ‘Uncle Joe’s going to shit monkeys.’

‘Putting it mildly.’

‘So tell me, cop, how much do you know? Make it good, maybe we can work something out.’

‘I’m open to offers.’

Fuller shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Ludo already sniffed you out about that.’

‘He didn’t exactly have the cards you’ve got.’

‘Well, that’s true.’ Fuller took a swipe at Rebus’s face with the jagged neck of his bottle. Instead of connecting, Rebus felt air brush his cheek. ‘Next time,’ Fuller said, ‘I might get careless. You could lose your looks.’

As if the condemned man cared for beauty. But Rebus was shaking.

‘Do I look like martyr material? All I was doing was my job. It’s what they pay me for, I’m not married to it!’

‘But you’re persistent.’

‘Blame fucking Lumsden, he got right up my back!’ A memory came to him unbeckoned: closing time at the Ox, nights when they’d stumbled out into the cold, joking about getting locked in the cellar and drinking the place dry. Now all Rebus wanted was out.

‘How much do you know?’ The jagged glass was an inch from his nose. Fuller stretched his arm until the bottle was beneath Rebus’s nostrils. Lager fumes, the cold touch of glass, pressing upwards. ‘Remember the old joke?’ Fuller asked. ‘Ask yourself how you’d smell without a nose.’