‘We’ve already been there,’ Pryde said. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’

‘Which deadbeat did you send?’

‘I went myself,’ Gill Templer said, voice as icy as the wind. Rebus bowed his head in apology. She had a point though: Matsumoto and Telford had been doing business. There had been nothing about their farewell to one another to suggest a break-up, and Matsumoto had seemed happy and confident at the casino. What had Telford to gain by bumping him off? Apart from maybe getting Rebus off his back.

Templer had mentioned Cafferty: was Big Ger capable of such a move? What did he stand to gain? Apart from settling a long-held grudge against Rebus, giving Telford a headache, and maybe gaining Poyntinghame and the Japanese deal for himself.

Balance the two - Telford against Cafferty. Cafferty’s side tipped, went clunk as it hit the ground.

‘Let’s get back to the station,’ Templer said. ‘I’m reaching the early stages of frostbite.’

‘Can I go home then?’

‘We’re not done with you yet, John,’ she said, getting into the car. ‘Not by a long chalk.’

But eventually they had to let him go. He wasn’t being charged, not yet. There was work still to be done. He knew they could make a case against him if they wanted to, knew it only too well. He’d followed Matsumoto out of the club. He was the one with the grudge against Telford. He was the one who’d see poetic justice in sending Telford a message by driving over one of his associates.

He, John Rebus, was firmly in the frame. It was tightly constructed and quite elegant in its way. The scales suddenly tipped back towards Telford again, so much subtler than Cafferty.

Telford.

Rebus visited Farlowe in his cell. The reporter wasn’t asleep.

‘How long do I have to stay here?’ he asked.

‘As long as possible.’

‘How’s Telford?’

‘Minor burns. Don’t expect him to press charges. He’ll want you on the outside.’

‘Then you’ll have to let me go.’

‘Don’t bet on it, Ned. We can press charges. We don’t need Telford.’

Farlowe looked at him. ‘You’re going to prosecute me?’

‘I saw the whole thing. Unwarranted attack on an innocent man.’

Farlowe snorted, then smiled. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? Charging me for my own good.’

He paused. ‘I won’t be able to see Sammy, will I?’

Rebus shook his head.

‘I didn’t think of that. Fact is, I didn’t think.’

He looked up from his ledge. ‘I just did. And right up until the moment I did it, it felt ... brilliant.’

‘And afterwards?’

Farlowe shrugged. ‘What does afterwards matter? It’s only the rest of my life.’

Rebus didn’t go home, knew he wouldn’t sleep. And he’d no car, so he couldn’t go driving. Instead, he visited the hospital, sat down by Sammy’s bedside. He took her hand, rested it against his face.

When a nurse came in and asked if he wanted anything, he asked if she’d any Paracetamol.

‘In a hospital?’ she said, smiling. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’