Jack Morton should have kept his head down.

And Rebus should have warned him.

Only, a shout would have turned the gunmen’s attention towards him. Cowardice:’ was that what was at the bottom of his feelings? Simple human cowardice. Like in the bar in Belfast, when he hadn’t said anything, fearing Mean Machine’s wrath, fearing a rifle-butt turned on him. Maybe that was why - no, of course that was why Lintz had got beneath Rebus’s skin. Because when it came down to it, if Rebus had been in Villefranche ... drunk on failure, the dream of conquest over ... if he’d been under orders, just a lackey with a gun ... if he’d been primed by racism and the loss of comrades ... who was to say what he’d have done? ‘Christ, John, how long have you been out here?’

It was Bobby Hogan, touching his face, prising the folder from frozen fingers.

‘You’re like ice, man, let’s get you inside.’

‘I’m fine,’ Rebus breathed. And it had to be true: how else to explain the sweat on his back and his brow? How else to explain that he only started shivering after Bobby led him indoors? Hogan got two mugs of sweet tea into him. The station was still buzzing: shock, rumour, theories. Rebus filled Hogan in.

‘They’ll have to’ let Telford walk, if nobody talks.’

‘What about the tape?’

‘They’ll want to spring that later ... if they’re being canny.’

‘Who’s in with him?’

Rebus shrugged. ‘Farmer Watson himself, last time I heard. He was doing a double-act with Bill Pryde, but I saw Bill later, so they’ve either taken a break or else done a swop.’

Hogan shook his head. ‘What a fucking business.’

Rebus stared at his tea. ‘I hate sugar.’

‘You drank the first mug all right.’

‘Did I?’

He took a mouthful, squirmed.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing out there?’

‘Catching a breath.’

‘Catching your death more like.’

Hogan patted down an unruly clump of hair. ‘I had a visit from a man called Harris.’

‘What are you going to do?’

Hogan shrugged. ‘Let it go, I suppose.’

Rebus stared at him. ‘You might not have to.’

36

Colquhoun didn’t look happy to be there. ‘Thanks for coming in,’ Rebus told him.

‘I didn’t have much choice.’

He had a solicitor sitting beside him, a middle-aged man: one of Telford’s? Rebus couldn’t have cared less.

‘You might have to get used to not having choices, Dr Colquhoun. Know who else is in here tonight? Tommy Telford; Brian Summers.’

‘Who?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘You’re getting your script wrong. It’s okay for you to know who they are: we talked about them in front of Candice.’

Colquhoun’s face flushed.

‘You remember Candice, don’t you? Her real name’s Dunya: did I ever tell you that? She’s got a son somewhere, only they took him away. Maybe she’ll find him one day, maybe not.’

‘I don’t see what this -’

‘Telford and Summers are going to be spending a while behind bars.’