‘I’ll need a history,’ Morton said, all business. ‘John’s explained the deal, and I like it. But I’ll need a flat, something scruffy and local.’

‘First thing tomorrow,’ Claverhouse said. ‘Look, we need to talk to our bosses about this, make sure it’s cleared.’

He looked at Morton. ‘What did you tell your own boss, Jack?’

‘I’ve got a few days off, didn’t think it was worth mentioning.’

Claverhouse nodded. ‘I’ll talk to him as soon as we get the go-ahead.’

‘We need that go-ahead tonight,’ Rebus said. ‘Telford’s men may already have lined someone up. If we hang around, we might lose it.’

‘Agreed,’ Claverhouse said, checking his watch. ‘I’ll make a few phone calls, interrupt a few post-prandial whiskies.’

‘I’ll back you up if need be,’ Davidson said.

Rebus looked at Jack Morton - his friend - and mouthed the word ‘thanks’. Morton shrugged it off. Then Rebus got to his feet.

‘I’m going to have to leave you to it,’ he told the assembly. ‘You’ve got my pager number and mobile if you need me.’

He was halfway down the hall when Siobhan Clarke caught him.

‘I just wanted to say thanks.’

Rebus blinked. ‘What for?’

‘Ever since you got Claverhouse excited, the tape machine’s stayed off.’

24

Supper was fine. He talked to Patience about Sammy, Rhona, his obsession with sixties music, his ignorance of fashion. She talked about work, an experimental cookery class she’d been taking, a trip to Orkney she was thinking of. They ate fresh pasta with a homemade mussel and prawn sauce, and shared a bottle of Highland Spring. Rebus tried his damnedest to forget about the sting operation, Tarawicz, Candice, Lintz ... She could see at least half his mind was elsewhere; tried not to feel betrayed. She asked him if he was going home.

‘Is that an invitation?’

‘I’m not sure ... I suppose so.’

‘Let’s pretend it wasn’t, then I won’t feel like complete scum when I turn it down.’

‘That sounds reasonable. Things on your mind?’

‘I’m surprised you can’t see them leaking out of my ears.’

‘Do you want to talk about any of it? I mean, you may not have noticed, but we’ve talked about practically everything tonight except us.) ‘I don’t think talking would help.’

‘But bottling it up does?’

She threw out an arm. ‘Behold the Scottish male, at his happiest when in denial.’

‘What am I denying?’

‘For a start, you’re denying me access to your life.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Christ, John, get the word put on a t-shirt.’

‘Thanks, maybe I Will.’

He got up from the sofa.

‘Oh, hell, I’m sorry.’

She smiled. ‘Look, you’ve got me at it now.’

‘Yes, it’s catching, all right.’

She stood up, touched his arm. ‘You’re worried about taking the test?’

‘Right now, believe it or not, that’s the least of my worries.’

‘It should be. Everything’s going to be fine.’

‘Hunky dory.’

‘Hunky dory,’ she repeated, smiling again. She pecked him on the cheek. ‘You know, I’ve never quite understood what that meant.’