Bairstow dragged his fingers through his beard while he debated with himself. “All right then,” he said, adjusting his baseball cap. “It’s over here.”

He led Rebus behind the shack towards where several cars were parked. One of these was an olive-green Land Rover, and Bairstow opened the back, reached in and held something out towards Rebus.

“It’s a crowbar,” Rebus said. He took it and weighed it in his hand.

“Nearly new, too,” Bairstow added. “Price sticker’s still on it.”

Rebus studied the sticker. “Bought from B and Q.”

“It’s not exactly industrial quality.”

“But you thought you’d have it all the same?”

Bairstow lowered his eyes.

“And this is all you took?”

“There wasn’t anything else.”

“Nothing from the car’s actual cabin?”

“I’ve told you.”

“And when you brought the VW back here…I’m guessing you stripped it down? Any surprises?”

The man shook his head.

“Just this?” Rebus said, lifting the crowbar.

“Just that,” Reece Bairstow agreed. “And if you’re asking me, I’d say it’s only been used once or twice.”

“Once or twice on what, though?” Rebus asked, receiving no answer.

Alice Bell pushed home the key and turned it, opening the door to the flat. She listened to the silence before entering. Closing the door after her, she tiptoed along the hall, holding her breath. She had tried to think of somewhere else she could go, but had come up with nothing. This was all she had.

“Well, well,” Forbes drawled as she entered the living room. “If it isn’t the Whore of Babylon…” He was seated on the sofa, stony-faced. Jessica was next to him, her damaged ankle resting on his lap, phone held in both hands, as if she’d just finished texting.

“I’m sorry,” Alice said, color flooding her face.

“For opening your legs to my old man? It’s my mother you should be apologizing to.”

“She decided she’d rather tear clumps out of me.”

“Can you blame her? Jesus Christ, Alice…”

“You want me to go?” Bell was staring not at Forbes but at Jessica. It was McCuskey, however, who answered, his voice rising.

“Of course she wants you to go!”

“I can speak for myself,” Jessica Traynor said, wincing as she removed her leg from his lap and twisted round to face her flatmate.

“Have you seen?” she asked, angling the screen of the phone in Alice’s direction. Alice took a step forward. It was a Facebook page, filled with hate for her.

“And Twitter’s not much better,” Jessica added with quiet sympathy.

The tears came, Alice pressing her hands to her eyes as if to dam them. She stumbled backwards into the armchair and sat with head bowed, shoulders heaving.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, so sorry. Oh God, oh God…”