Rebus took a moment to digest this.

“I’d say he’s going to give your lot a few headaches in the coming years, too,” Cafferty went on. “Just as long as he stays smart and stays lucky.”

“So where’s Hammell now?”

“Keeping his head down.”

“I don’t buy it—Hammell’s too big.”

“The kid’s been chipping away at him from the ground up. Kicked out Hammell’s men and brought in his own. And he did all of that without Hammell noticing, meaning he’s been very clever. If Hammell had suspected, the kid would be lying in a forest somewhere.”

“Somewhere off the A9?”

“As good a place as any.”

Rebus shook his head slowly. “Darryl had to have your backing.”

“Do you think I wouldn’t be taking the credit if I could?”

“He’s too young.”

“But sharp as a craft knife.”

“What was your plan—turn him against Hammell?”

“Maybe.”

“Stir things up a bit?”

“You’re pretty good at that yourself—no wonder the Complaints are interested. Doesn’t seem to have stopped our little get-togethers, though, does it? I reckon that’s because you’d get bored otherwise.”

“Oh aye?”

Cafferty was nodding. “Tell me something,” he said, leaning his elbows against the table. “The argument Hammell had with the girl—any idea what it was about?”

“I know exactly what it was about.”

“But you’re not going to tell me.”

“No, I’m not—and there’s no point asking Ormiston, because I can tell you for a fact he doesn’t know.”

The two men sized one another up. If there had been a chessboard between them, they might have been readying to call a draw—another draw in an ever-lengthening line of them. Cafferty finished his drink and got to his feet. “One more?” he asked, heading for the bar without waiting for a reply. Having ordered for both of them, he listened as the door behind him rattled open and then closed again. When he turned, Rebus was gone, leaving behind a half-full glass and the photo from the funeral.

A forest somewhere…

As good a place as any…

A forest…

Back at his flat, Rebus tapped the number he had for Frank Hammell into his phone. It rang and rang without anyone answering. He tipped the dregs of the whisky bottle into his mouth and swallowed them down. He was standing by the living room window, its view unchanged. The two kids in the flat opposite were cross-legged on the carpet watching TV. He wondered what life held in store for them. An absent parent, perhaps. College or straight into work? Maybe unemployment. Meeting someone they really loved. And the last-chance saloon of IVF. Then they might become parents themselves, worrying about the future and wishing they could see what it held. His phone buzzed, Hammell’s name appearing on the screen. Rebus hesitated, then decided to answer.

“I think we should meet,” he said.

“Why?” The voice sounded dry and hollow.

“Because I’ve heard about you and Darryl.”

“I never want to hear that little prick’s name again!”