They shook themselves dry and settled on stools at the bar. Rebus ordered – malt, gin and tonic – and lit a cigarette, offering one to Ancram, who shook his head.

‘So where have you been?’

‘Uncle Joe’s.’ Among other places.

‘How did you get on?’

‘I spoke to the man.’ And paid my respects …

‘Face to face?’ Rebus nodded; Ancram appraised him. ‘Where?’

‘At his house.’

‘The Ponderosa? He let you in without a search warrant?’

‘The place was immaculate.’

‘He’d probably spent half an hour before you got there sticking all the booty upstairs.’

‘His son was upstairs when I got there.’

‘Standing guard on the bedroom door, no doubt. Did you see Eve?’

‘Who’s she?’

‘Uncle Joe’s clippie. Don’t be fooled by the wheezing old pensioner routine. Eve’s around fifty, still in good nick.’

‘I didn’t see her.’

‘You’d’ve remembered. So, did anything rattle loose from the shaky old bugger?’

‘Not much. He swore Tony El’s been off the payroll for a year, and he hasn’t seen him.’

A man came into the bar, saw Ancram, and was about to do a U-turn. But Ancram had already spotted him in the bar mirror, so the man walked up to him, brushing rain off his hair.

‘Hiya, Chick.’

‘Dusty, how’s things?’

‘No’ bad.’

‘You’re doing away then?’

‘You know me, Chick.’ The man kept his head low, spoke in an undertone, shuffled off to the far end of the bar.

‘Just someone I know,’ Ancram explained: meaning, a snitch. The man was ordering a half and a ‘hauf’: whisky with a half-pint of beer to chase it down. He opened a packet of Embassy, made too much of a point of not looking along the bar.

‘So was that all Uncle Joe gave you?’ Ancram asked. ‘I’m intrigued, how did you get to him?’

‘A patrol car dropped me, I walked the rest of the way.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Uncle Joe and I have a mutual friend.’ Rebus finished his malt.

‘Same again?’ Ancram asked. Rebus nodded. ‘Well, I know you visited the Bar-L.’ Jack Morton talking? ‘And I can’t think of too many people there who have Uncle Joe’s ear … Big Ger Cafferty?’ Rebus gave silent applause. Ancram laughed for real this time, not a show for reporters. ‘And the old sod didn’t tell you anything?’

‘Just that he thought Tony El had moved south, maybe to London.’

Ancram picked the lemon out of his drink, discarded it. ‘Really? That’s interesting.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve had my friends reporting in.’ Ancram made the slightest movement with his head, and the snitch from the far end of the bar slid off his stool and came towards them. ‘Tell Inspector Rebus what you told me, Dusty.’

Dusty licked non-existent lips. He looked the kind who snitched to feel important, not just for money or revenge.

‘Word is,’ he said, face still bowed so Rebus was looking at the top of his head, ‘Tony El’s been working up north.’