There was no knock at the door. It just opened, and a young man Rebus recognized as Darryl Christie was standing there. He saw that Hammell had a visitor and began to mutter an apology.

“The two of you should meet,” Hammell said, gesturing for the young man to come in. Rebus reckoned Christie merited standing up for.

“We spoke on the phone,” he explained, extending his hand. “I’m John Rebus.”

“Is it to do with Annette?”

“Just a progress report,” Hammell reassured him. “Nothing to worry about.”

Christie’s phone buzzed and he checked the message on the screen. He was a handsome enough lad, and his tailored suit looked brand new. A suit was an interesting choice. It belonged to the world of grown-ups, of serious business. Hammell dressed sloppily because he could afford to: no one was going to misjudge him, whatever he chose to wear. Darryl had to work that bit harder. In denims, there was always the chance he would be mistaken for a nobody.

“What’s this I hear about photographs?” Christie asked.

“Your sister sent one,” Rebus explained. “Or at least, one was sent from her phone. Same thing with a missing person from a few years back. Right now, that’s about as much as we have.”

“Plus a suspect who’s gone AWOL,” Hammell interrupted. “We’ve not got him locked in the cellar, have we, Darryl?”

“Not last time I looked.” Christie’s phone buzzed again, alerting him to a new message.

“Always the fucking texts,” Hammell complained. “Take him to a show or the best restaurants, he hardly looks up from that bloody phone.”

“It’s how business gets done,” Christie muttered, his fingertips busy on the touchscreen.

Hammell wrinkled his nose and caught Rebus’s eye. “People like you and me, we prefer things face to face. That was all you had in the old days. Tonight you could have phoned me, but you came in person.” He nodded his approval. “Sure you won’t take that drink?”

“I’m fine,” Rebus said.

“You could offer me one,” Darryl Christie commented.

“But then I’d have to pour you into a cab at the end of the night.”

Christie ignored this. He waved his phone in his employer’s direction. “I have to deal with this,” he said, turning and exiting the room.

“Not even a word of goodbye, eh?” Hammell shook his head in mock despair. “He’s a good kid, though.”

“How long have you known his mother?”

“Didn’t you ask me that already?”

“I don’t recall you answering.”

“Maybe because it’s still none of your business.”

“Line of work I’m in, every little detail counts. You knew Darryl’s dad?”

“Derek was a mate.” Hammell offered a shrug.

“Any truth in the rumor you ran him out of town?”

“Is this coming from your mouth or your pal Cafferty’s?”

“I’ve told you, he’s not my pal.”