“I’ve given her some exercises I’d like her to try. Nothing too strenuous just yet.”

Traynor nodded and reached into his back trouser pocket, pulling out a wallet. The physio held up a hand.

“We’ll bill you, Mr. Traynor.”

“Right.” But Traynor pressed an English twenty-pound note on the man anyway. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Of course.” And with a smile, stuffing the tip into his pocket, the physio headed down the corridor towards the lift.

“Not the NHS, then?” Rebus guessed.

“Not a bloody chance.” Traynor turned to study him. “You sure you need to speak to Jessica? You can’t just tell me?”

“Afraid not.” Rebus could have added: I want to see her reaction…

Having checked he had key cards to both rooms, Traynor locked his door and knocked on his daughter’s, before sliding the key in and out of its slot.

Her room was smaller, but still had space for a sofa and chairs. There were fresh flowers in a vase on a table. She was wearing a simple dress, bare legs showing bruising from the crash, one ankle strapped. She still wore the neck brace and was lying propped up on the bed, three huge pillows behind her. The TV was on—a channel playing music videos. She muted the volume, then noticed Rebus.

“Oh,” she said.

“Hello again, Ms. Traynor.”

“What do you want?”

“Something that apparently has to be said in front of both of us,” her father explained, folding his arms in readiness. Rebus wasn’t going to be invited to sit down, but that suited him fine. He made sure he had both father and daughter in his eye line before commencing.

“Earlier today,” he said, “Patrick McCuskey was attacked in his home.” He left it at that for the moment, content to gauge the reaction of the room. Jessica put a hand to her open mouth as if to stifle a gasp.

“Forbes McCuskey’s father?” Owen Traynor asked. “The government guy?”

“The government guy,” Rebus confirmed, his eyes on Jessica.

“Is he…all right?” she asked.

Rebus nodded towards the TV. “News channels probably know more than me.”

She found one; the footage was a report from the Middle East, but a few words on the break-in ran along the bottom of the screen: Scottish Justice Minister in hospital after burglary at his Edinburgh home…

“Except we don’t call it burglary up here,” Rebus said by way of correction.

“Is Forbes okay?” Jessica Traynor asked. “Was he there when it…?”

“Father seems to have been on his own. Do you know the house, Ms. Traynor?”

“I’ve been there a few times.” She paused. “How awful for Bethany.”

“I’ve just come from the house—not too far from where your car went off the road. You weren’t maybe headed there, or away from there…?”