Candice stood there, a stooge to her owner’s little act. Then he waved her off with a flick of his hand. Permission granted, she started for the doors. Rebus moved back into a recess where the public telephones sat. She turned right out of the doors, disappeared into the ladies’. At the table, they were busy ordering more champagne - and an orange juice for Pretty-Boy.

Rebus looked around, took a deep breath. Walked into the ladies’ toilets like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She was splashing her face with water. A little brown bottle sat next to the sink. Three yellow tablets lying ready. Rebus swept them on to the floor.

‘Hey!’ She turned, saw him, put a hand to her mouth. She tried backing away, but there was nowhere to go.

‘Is this what you want, Dunya?’

Using her real name as a weapon: friendly fire.

She frowned, shook her head: incomprehension on her face. He grabbed her shoulders, squeezed.

‘Sammy,’ he hissed. ‘Sammy’s in hospital. Very ill.’

He pointed towards the hotel bar. ‘They tried to kill her.’

The gist got through. Candice shook her head. Tears were smudging her mascara.

‘Did you tell Sammy anything?’

She frowned again.

‘Anything about Telford or Tarawicz? Did you talk to Sammy about them?’

A slow, determined shake of the head. ‘Sammy ... hospital?’

He nodded. Turned his hands into a steering-wheel, made engine noises, then slammed a fist into his open palm. Candice turned away, grabbed the sink. She was crying, shoulders jerking. She scrabbled for more tablets. Rebus tore them from her hand.

‘You want to blank it all out? Forget it.’

He threw them on to the floor, crushed them under his heel. She crouched down, licked a finger and dabbed at the powder. Rebus hauled her to her feet. Her knees wouldn’t lock; he had to keep holding her upright. She wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

‘It’s funny, we first met in a toilet, remember? You were scared. You hated your life so much you’d slashed your arms.’

He touched her scarred wrists. ‘That’s how much you hated your life. And now you’re straight back in it.’

Her face was against his jacket, tears dropping on to his shirt.

‘Remember the Japanese?’ he cooed. ‘Remember Juniper Green, the golf club?’

She drew back, wiped her nose on her bare wrist. ‘Juniper Green,’ she said.

‘That’s right. And a big factory ... the car stopped, and everyone looked at the factory.’

She was nodding.

‘Did anyone talk about it? Did they say anything?’

She was shaking her head. ‘John ...’

Her hands on his lapels. She sniffed, swiped at her nose again. She slid down his jacket, his shirt. She was on her knees, looking up at him, blinking tears, while her damp fingers scored white powder from the tiles. Rebus crouched down in front of her.

‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll help you.’

He pointed towards the door, towards the world outside, but she was busy in her own world now, fingers going to her mouth. Someone pushed open the door. Rebus looked up.