‘Big mistake,’ he said.

‘In,’ Tarawicz ordered. They pushed Rebus into the hallway, walked him to the living room.

‘Sit.’

Hands pushed Rebus on to the sofa.

‘At least let me make a pot of tea,’ he said. Inside he was trembling, knowing everything he couldn’t afford to give away.

‘Nice place,’ Mr Pink Eyes was saying. ‘Lacks the feminine touch though.’

He turned to Rebus. ‘Where is she?’

Two of the men had peeled off to search the place.

‘Who?’

‘I mean, who else would she turn to? Not your daughter ... not now she’s in a coma.’

Rebus stared at him. ‘What do you know about that?’

The two men returned, shook their heads.

‘I hear things.’

Tarawicz pulled out a dining-chair and sat down. There were two men behind the sofa, two in front.

‘Make yourselves at home, lads. Where’s the Crab, Jake?’

Reasoning: a question he might be expected to ask.

‘Down south. What’s it to you?’

Rebus shrugged.

‘Shame about your daughter. Going to make a recovery, is she?’

Rebus didn’t answer. Tarawicz smiled. ‘National Health Service ... I wouldn’t trust it myself.’

He paused. ‘Where is she, Rebus?’

‘Using my finely honed detective’s skills, I’ll assume you mean Candice.’

Meaning she’d done a runner. Trusting to herself for once. Rebus was proud of her.

Tarawicz snapped his fingers. Arms grabbed Rebus from behind, pinning back his shoulders. One man stepped forward and punched him solidly on the jaw. Stepped back again. Second man forward: gut punches. A hand tugged his hair, forcing his eyes up to the ceiling. He didn’t see the flat-handed chop aiming for his throat. When it came, he thought he was going to cough out his voice-box. They let him go, and he pitched forward, hands going to his throat, retching for breath. A couple of teeth felt loose, and the skin inside his cheek had burst. He got out a handkerchief, spat blood.

‘Unfortunately,’ Tarawicz was saying, ‘I have no sense of humour. So I hope you’ll understand I’m not joking when I say that I’ll kill you if I have to.’

Rebus shook his head free of all the secrets he knew, all the power he held over Tarawicz. He told himself: you don’t know anything.

He told himself you’re not going to die.

‘Even ... if ... I did know ...’

Fighting for breath. ‘I wouldn’t tell you. If the two of us were standing in a minefield, I wouldn’t let you know. Want me ... to tell you why?’

‘Sticks and stones, Rebus.’

‘It’s not because of who you are, it’s what you are. You trade in human beings.’

Rebus dabbed at his mouth. ‘You’re no better than the Nazis.’

Tarawicz put a hand to his chest. ‘I’m struck to the quick.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ Rebus coughed again. ‘Tell me, why do you want her back?’

Rebus knowing the answer: because he was about to head south, leaving Telford in Shit Street. Because to return to Newcastle without her was a small but palpable defeat. Tarawicz wanted it all. He wanted every last crumb on the plate.