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.”

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.”