“I speak as I find.” Rebus pushed his drink away and headed for the door. The landlord was outside, puffing on a cigarette and with his phone pressed to his face. He recognized Rebus and wished him all the best. As it dawned, however, that Cafferty was staying inside, he began to look a little more anxious. Rebus lit a cigarette of his own and kept walking.

Fox watched him leave. He was slouched in the passenger seat of a Ford Mondeo, parked across the street from the pub, outside a late-opening grocer’s shop. His colleague, Tony Kaye, was inside the shop itself, making it look as though they’d pulled up to buy provisions. Kaye emerged toting a four-pack of beer and munching on a Mars bar. He dumped the cans on the backseat and walked around to the driver’s side.

“Cafferty’s still in there,” Fox told him. But only a minute or two later the man emerged. He must have phoned for a taxi, because one drew to a halt and he climbed in. A further figure left the pub straight afterward and jogged towards the Mondeo.

“For me?” he said, climbing into the back and opening one of the beers.

“Better be worth it,” Kaye muttered.

Joe Naysmith was the youngest member of Fox’s small team. He swallowed and stifled a burp before making his report.

“Football on the telly. Helluva din.”

“Could you make out any of what they were saying?” Fox demanded.

“Seemed to be about Frank Hammell. Him and the girl who went missing.”

“What about them?”

Naysmith offered a shrug. “Like I say, it was noisy. If I’d got too close they’d have clocked me.”

“Useless,” Tony Kaye growled. He turned towards Fox. “All this effort, Malcolm—for what exactly?”

“For a result.”

“Some result.” Kaye paused. “Who tipped you off that they’d be meeting?”

“Text message. Number blocked.”

“Same as before, then. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

Kaye gestured in the direction Rebus had taken. “If he’s being set up.”

Fox stared at his colleague. “Am I missing something? Didn’t a retired detective—a current police employee, by the way, with his nose deep in an ongoing case—just have a known gangster turn up at his door? And didn’t the two of them then go out together for a drink and a catch-up?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything, especially when they start discussing the very case Rebus is working on. Throw Frank Hammell’s name into the mix and it gets more interesting still.”

“I don’t see it,” Kaye said, shaking his head.

“I do,” Fox retorted. “And at the end of the day, that’s what really matters.”

“Want one?” Joe Naysmith asked, holding out a can towards Kaye.

“Why the hell not?” Kaye snatched at it.

“In which case, I’m driving,” Fox said, pushing open the passenger-side door.