“He just nodded.” Deano paused. “Maybe that was a bit odd. I mean, he didn’t say anything, like he was distracted. Just stared at the windscreen while I flicked the twenty onto the passenger seat.” He fixed Rebus with a look. “No way I’m telling this to anyone else.”

“I’ll need to think about that.”

“I’ll deny everything. It’ll be your word against mine.”

“I wonder whose story your boss would be likely to believe, Deano. Could be the police will be the least of your troubles.”

Rebus crossed the road and got into his car. Turned the ignition and gave a little wave in the bouncer’s direction before moving off.

Deano watched the car all the way to the T-junction. Even when it was lost to view he kept staring, as if there might be something around the corner that would emerge suddenly, changing his life utterly and forever. A distant roar told him that the hip-hop car was somewhere in the vicinity. He turned and headed into the Gimlet, knowing that the sanctuary it offered might be fleeting and deceptive.

“Anyone would think you have no social life,” Rebus said. He had recognized Clarke’s Astra parked directly outside his tenement. She was getting out of the car now, smiling tiredly.

“You don’t exactly look as if you’ve been partying,” she responded.

“The law never sleeps, Siobhan. But in your case, I might make an exception. Workload getting to you?”

“I don’t want any foul-ups.”

“They’re more likely to happen when the boss hasn’t had enough shut-eye.” Rebus was finding the key for the main door. “You coming up?”

“How strong can you make a cup of tea?”

Rebus tutted. “Warm milk for you, young lady. And a lift home after, if you’re too tired to drive…”

The flat was chilly, and Rebus turned up the radiators in the living room. He plugged his phone in to charge while he made tea. Clarke wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“I may have just lost my appetite.” She closed the door on the dried-up cheese and gray-pallored sausages.

“We could call for a delivery.”

But she shook her head and watched him remove the tea bags from either mug. Back in the living room, she rested her head against the back of the sofa, eyes closed.

“Stretch out, if you like,” Rebus said, settling into his own armchair. “Then tell me all your troubles.”

“Like I’m in therapy, you mean?” She smiled, eyes still closed. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Do I sound like a man with problems?”

She angled her head and looked at him. “You are, though. Let’s start with the gun. You know something about it, scout’s honor or not, so spit it out.”