“Lost a fucking filling,” he said, wiping a string of blood and saliva from his chin. Rebus waved the van driver away without taking his eyes off his opponent. “Probably one of my balls as well.” Hammell stared hard at Rebus. “Dirty bastard of a fighter, aren’t you?”

“Only way I was going to stop you, Frank,” Rebus said. “Are we ready to talk now or what?”

Hammell had a finger hooked into his mouth, checking the damage. He gave a slow nod.

“Come up to mine, then. You can have a wash and a clean-up…”

Rebus led the way, out of breath by the time he reached his landing. His hand was shaking so much it took several attempts to retrieve his door key from his pocket and fit it into the lock. “Bathroom’s through there,” he said. The door closed and he heard the tap being turned. In the kitchen he switched the kettle on before checking the back of his head for a cut that wasn’t there. He removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. His ribs were sore when he touched them, and there’d be bruising later. He just hoped he hadn’t cracked one. His shoes had been scraped by contact with the tarmac, but there was no obvious damage to his suit. He placed his hands under the cold tap and felt the immediate sting as he rinsed them clean. He had buttoned his shirt again and tucked it in by the time the kettle boiled. He made two mugs of black coffee and carried them through to the living room. When Hammell arrived, Rebus was seated at the dining table.

“Sugar?” he asked. Hammell shook his head and sat down, pretending to study the room so he wouldn’t have to meet Rebus’s eyes. There were nicks and abrasions on his face, but nothing too dramatic.

“I’m sorry,” Rebus said. “But someone would have asked eventually.”

Hammell nodded slowly. He saw that Rebus had extended a hand across the table. With no great enthusiasm he took it, and the two men shook.

“My balls are nipping,” Hammell confessed.

Rebus repeated his apology and the two men started on their drinks. The bottle of Highland Park was over by the armchair, still containing a couple of good measures, but Rebus didn’t offer and Hammell didn’t ask.

“They can really get DNA from a pube?” Hammell inquired eventually. Rebus nodded. “Well…” Hammell cleared his throat. “I suppose it could belong to me.” He waited for Rebus to say something, but Rebus was blowing across the surface of his coffee, no judgment forthcoming. Hammell seemed to relax slightly. “Things happen, you know? You’re not always as in control as you think.”

“Did the two of you manage to keep it under wraps?”

“Would Gail still be seeing me otherwise?”

Rebus thought fleetingly of Nina and Sally Hazlitt, of families and the secrets they succeeded in keeping from the world. “What about Darryl?”

Hammell shook his head. “So what happens now?” he asked. “Does this all have to come out?”