“It’s me,” he said when she answered.

“Hey, Dad.”

“You okay to talk?”

“Nothing planned except a lazy weekend.”

“Lucky you. I just thought I’d call and see how you’re doing.” He leaned back against the headrest, holding the phone close to his ear, content just to listen to her voice.

“Is everything all right?” she asked. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“Not like you to pick up the phone.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of you, Samantha. I think about you a lot.”

“I’m doing okay.”

“I know you are.”

“How about you? Any closer to catching that madman?”

“People keep asking me that.” He was remembering his words to the salesman: there’s always a destination, and you know you’re going to reach it one way or another…

“What do you tell them?”

“You really think he’s a madman?”

“Has to be.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

“Gives me the creeps to think of him still out there. I’ve an appointment in Inverness in a few days with the IVF team. I’ve told Keith I’m not going without him.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“I suppose it is. Will you let me know how it goes at Raigmore?”

“Of course.”

“And maybe you and Keith should think about a weekend in Edinburgh. I could find you a hotel—my treat.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“Enough of your cheek, young lady.”

He heard her laughter ringing in his ears.

66

That evening, he met Cafferty at the Tannery.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, buying the drinks before heading for a table.

“Is this where you offer an apology?” Cafferty asked.

“What sort of apology?”

“Last time we were in here, you were less than gracious.”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

“So?”

“You’re not going to tell me I hurt your feelings?”

Cafferty managed the thinnest of smiles. “Maybe not,” he conceded. “So why did you bring me here?”

Rebus reached into his pocket and unfolded a page torn from the Scotsman, flattening it out on the table. It was a report of Annette McKie’s funeral, accompanied by a photograph of some of the mourners as they left the chapel, Cafferty among them.

“I was invited by the family,” Cafferty explained.

“I wasn’t aware you knew them.”

“I know Darryl.”

“Since when? Not so long back, you didn’t even know he worked for Frank Hammell.”

“It was you who tipped me off.” Cafferty raised his glass as if in a toast.

“And between then and now, you’ve managed to worm your way into the family?”

“Darryl wanted me there.”

“Why, though?”

“Bit of business.” Cafferty took a sip of whisky, savoring it before swallowing.

“I didn’t see Hammell among the guests.”

“Well you wouldn’t.”

“Because he’s been pushed out?” Rebus guessed. “You turned Darryl against him?”

“You don’t give the lad enough credit.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just that my help wasn’t really needed. Young Darryl’s had Frank Hammell in his sights from the word go.”