They sat for over an hour at the end of Flint Street, and Rebus stayed in the front of the cab. His reasoning: a cab parked with a passenger in the back looked suspicious. A cab parked with two guys in the front, and you’d just think they were on their break, or at shift’s end - two cabbies sharing stories and a flask of tea.

Rebus took one sip from the plastic cup and winced. Half a bag of sugar in the flask.

‘I’ve always had a sweet tooth,’ Wilson explained. He had a packet of crisps open on his lap: pickled onion flavour.

Finally, Rebus saw two Range Rovers being driven into Flint Street. Sean Haddow - Telford’s money man - was driving the lead car. He got out and went into the arcade. On the passenger seat, Rebus could see a huge yellow teddy bear. Haddow was coming out again, bringing Telford with him. Telford: back from the hospital already, hands bandaged, gauze patches on his face like he’d had a particularly ropey shave. But not about to let a little thing like an acid attack get in the way of business. Haddow held the back door open, and Telford got in.

‘This is us, Henry,’ Rebus said. ‘You’re going to be following those two Range Rovers. Stay back as far as you like. Those things are so high off the ground, we’ll be able to see them over anything smaller than a double-decker.’

Both Range Rovers headed out of Flint Street. The second car carried three of Telford’s ‘soldiers’. Rebus recognised Pretty-Boy. The other two were younger recruits, well-dressed with groomed hair. One hundred percent business.

The convoy headed for the city centre, stopped outside a hotel. Telford had a word with his men, but entered the building alone. The cars stayed where they were.

‘Are you going in?’

Wilson asked.

‘I think I’d be noticed,’ Rebus said. The drivers of both Range Rovers had got out and were enjoying a smoke, but keeping a keen eye on people entering and leaving the hotel. A couple of prospects looked into the cab, but Wilson shook his head.

‘I could be making a mint here,’ he muttered. Rebus offered him a Polo. Wilson accepted with a snort.

‘Brilliant,’ Rebus said. Wilson looked back towards the hotel. A parking warden was talking to Haddow and Pretty Boy. She had her notebook out. They were tapping their watches, attempting charm. Double yellow lines kerbside: no parking any time.

Haddow and Pretty-Boy held up their hands in surrender, had a quick confab, then it was back into the Range Rovers. Pretty-Boy made circling motions with one hand, letting his passengers know they were going to circle the block. The warden stood her ground till they’d moved off. Haddow was on his mobile: doubtless letting his boss know the score.

Interesting: they hadn’t tried to strongarm the warden, or bribe her, nothing like that. Law-abiding citizens. Telford’s rules, no doubt. Again, Rebus couldn’t see any of Cafferty’s men giving in so quickly.