‘My business,’ Tarawicz said. Another signal, and the hands grabbed him again, Rebus resisting this time. Packing-tape was being wound around his mouth.

‘Everybody tells me how genteel Edinburgh is,’ Tarawicz was saying. ‘Can’t have the neighbours complaining about the screams. Put him on a chair.’

Rebus was lifted up. He struggled. A kidney punch buckled his knees. They forced him down on to a dining-chair. Tarawicz was removing his jacket, undoing gold cufflinks so he could roll up the sleeves of his pink and blue striped shirt. His arms were hairless, thick, and the same mottled colour as his face.

‘A skin complaint,’ he explained, removing his blue-tinted glasses. ‘Some distant cousin of leprosy, they tell me.’

He loosened his top button. ‘I’m not as pretty as Tommy Telford, but I think you’ll find me his master in every other respect.’

A smile to his troops, a smile Rebus wasn’t supposed to understand. ‘We can start anywhere you want, Rebus. And you get to choose when we stop. Just nod your head, tell me where she is, and I walk out of your life forever.’

He got in close to Rebus, the sheen on his face like a protective seal. His pale blue eyes had tiny black pupils. Rebus thought: consumer as well as pusher. Tarawicz waited for a nod which didn’t come, then retreated. Found an anglepoise lamp next to Rebus’s chair. Planted both feet on its base and yanked on the mains cable, ripping it free.

‘Bring him over here,’ he ordered. Two men pulled both Rebus and chair over towards where Tarawicz was checking that the cable was plugged into the wall and that the socket was switched on. Another man closed the curtains: no free show for the kids across the way. Tarawicz was dangling the cable, letting Rebus see the loose wires - the very live wires. Two-hundred-and-forty volts just waiting to make his acquaintance.

‘Believe me,’ Tarawicz said, ‘this is nothing. The Serbs had torture down to a fine art. Much of the time, they weren’t even looking for a confession. I’ve helped a few of the more intelligent ones, the ones who knew when it was time to run. There was money to be made in the early days, power for the taking. Now the politicians are moving in, bringing trial-judges with them.’

He looked at Rebus. ‘The intelligent ones always know when it’s time to quit. One last chance, Rebus. Remember, a nod of the head ...’

The wires were inches from his cheek. Tarawicz changed his mind, moved them towards his nostrils, then his eyeballs.

‘A nod of the head ...’

Rebus was twisting, arms holding him down - his legs, arms, shoulders. Hands holding his head, chest. Wait! The shock would pass straight through Tarawicz’s men! Rebus saw it for a bluff. His eyes met Tarawicz’s, and they both knew. Tarawicz pulled back.

‘Tape him to the chair.’

Two-inch-wide runs of tape, fixing him in place.

‘This time for real, Rebus.’