‘You following me?’

Morton smiled. ‘You look rough, John.’

‘And you and your cronies look too good.’

‘I can’t be bought.’

‘No? Who can?’

‘Come on, John, I was making a joke.’ Morton sat down next to him. ‘I heard about Lawson Geddes. Does that mean the stooshie’ll die down?’

‘Some hope.’ Rebus drained his glass. ‘Look at that,’ he said, pointing out a machine on the corner of the bar. ‘Jelly bean dispenser, twenty pence a throw. Two things the Scots are famous for, Jack: our sweet tooth and alcohol consumption.’

‘Two more things we’re famous for,’ Morton said.

‘What?’

‘Avoiding the issue and feeling guilty all the time.’

‘You mean Calvinism?’ Rebus chuckled. ‘Christ, Jack, I thought the only Calvin you knew these days was Mr Klein.’

Jack Morton was staring at him, seeking eye-to-eye contact. ‘Give me another reason why a man would let himself go.’

Rebus snorted. ‘How long have you got?’

Morton to Rebus: ‘As long as it takes.’

‘Not nearly enough, Jack. Here, have a proper drink.’

‘This is a proper drink. That stuff you’re drinking, that’s not really a drink.’

‘What is it then?’

‘An escape clause.’

Jack said he’d drive Rebus to Barlinnie, didn’t ask why he wanted to go there. They took the M8 to Riddrie; Jack knew all the routes. They didn’t say much during the trip, until Jack asked the question which had been hanging between them.

‘How’s Sammy?’

Rebus’s daughter, now grown up. Jack hadn’t seen her in nearly ten years.

‘She’s fine.’ Rebus had a change of subject ready. ‘I’m not sure Chick Ancram likes me. He keeps … studying me.’

‘He’s a shrewd customer, be nice to him.’

‘Any particular reason?’

Jack Morton bit back an answer, shook his head. They turned off Cumbernauld Road, approached the jail.

‘Look,’ Jack said, ‘I can’t hang around. Tell me how long you’ll be and I’ll send a patrol car for you.’

‘An hour should do it.’

Jack Morton checked his watch. ‘An hour it is.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good to see you again, John.’

Rebus took the hand, squeezed.

6

‘Big Ger’ Cafferty was waiting when he reached the Interview Room.

‘Well, Strawman, this is an unexpected pleasure.’

Strawman: Cafferty’s name for Rebus. The prison guard who had brought Rebus seemed disinclined to leave, and there were already two guards in the room keeping an eye on Cafferty. He’d already escaped once from Barlinnie, and now that they had him back, they were intent on keeping him.

‘Hello, Cafferty.’ Rebus sat down across from him. Cafferty had aged in prison, losing his tan and some musculature, putting on weight in all the wrong places. His hair was thin and greying quickly, and there was stubble on chin and cheekbones. ‘I’ve brought you something.’ He looked at the guards, eased the half-bottle out of his pocket.

‘Not allowed,’ one guard snapped.

‘Don’t worry, Strawman,’ Cafferty said. ‘I’ve plenty of hooch, this place is practically swimming in the stuff. It’s the thought that counts, eh?’