‘North?’

‘Dundee … north-east.’

‘Aberdeen?’

‘Up that way, aye.’

‘Doing what?’

A fast shrug of the shoulders. ‘Independent operator, who knows. He’s just been seen around.’

‘Thanks, Dusty,’ Ancram said. Dusty sloped back to his end of the bar. Ancram signalled for the barmaid. ‘Two more,’ he said, ‘and whatever Dusty’s drinking.’ He turned to Rebus. ‘So who do you believe, Uncle Joe or Dusty?’

‘You think he lied just to wind me up?’

‘Or wind you down.’

Yes, down as far as London, a false trail that could have eaten into the investigation: wasted time, manpower, effort.

‘The victim worked out of Aberdeen,’ Rebus said.

‘All roads leading to.’ The drinks had arrived. Ancram handed over a twenty. ‘Don’t bother with change, keep it to pay for whatever else Dusty drinks, and give him what’s left at the end. Plus one for yourself.’

She nodded, knew the routine. Rebus was thinking hard, routes leading north. Did he want to go to Aberdeen? It would keep him away from The Justice Programme, maybe keep him from thinking about Lawson Geddes. Today had been like a holiday in that respect. Edinburgh was too full of ghosts; but then so was Glasgow – Jim Stevens, Jack Morton, Bible John and his victims …

‘Did Jack tell you I’d been to the Bar-L?’

‘I pulled rank on him, don’t blame Jack.’

‘He’s changed a lot.’

‘Has he been nagging you? I wondered why he chased after you at lunchtime. The zeal of the converted.’

‘I don’t get it.’ Rebus lifted the glass to his lips, poured it in smoothly.

‘Didn’t he say? He’s joined AA, and I don’t mean breakdown insurance.’ Ancram paused. ‘Come to think of it though, maybe I do.’ He winked, smiled. There was something annoying about his smile; it was like he was party to secrets and motives – a patronising smile.

A very Glaswegian sort of smile.

‘He was an alcoholic,’ Ancram went on. ‘I mean, he still is. Once an alky, always an alky, that’s what they say. Something happened to him in Falkirk, he ended up in hospital, nearly in a coma. Sweats, spewing, slime dripping off the ceiling. Gave him a hell of a fright. First thing he did when he got out was look up the phone number for Samaritans, and they put him on to the Juice Church.’ He looked at Rebus’s glass. ‘Christ, that was quick. Here, have another.’ The barmaid already had a glass in her hand.

‘Thanks, I will,’ said Rebus, wishing he didn’t feel so calm. ‘Since you seem to be so loaded. Nice suit, too.’

The humour left Ancram’s eyes. ‘There’s a tailor on Argyle Street, ten per cent discount for serving officers.’ The eyes narrowed. ‘Spit it out.’

‘No, it’s nothing really, just that when I was going through the files on Toal, I couldn’t help noticing that he always seemed to have inside info.’

‘Careful, laddie.’

The ‘laddie’ rankled; it was meant to.

‘Well,’ Rebus went on, ‘everyone knows the west coast is open to bungs. Not always cash, you understand. Could be watches, ID bracelets, rings, maybe even a few suits …’