‘Cut those fucking ropes!’ A sniff from the Weasel. ‘You heard the man, Tony.’

Ca-chink of a flick-knife opening. Ropes severed like through butter. Rebus walked to within inches of the boy.

‘What’s your name?’

‘J Jordan.’

‘Is that your first name or your second?’

The boy looked at him. ‘First.’

‘Okay, Jordan.’

Rebus leaned down. The boy flinched, but did not help me, puh cutting resist as Rebus picked him up. He weighed almost nothing. Rebus started walking with him.

‘What now, Rebus?’ the Weasel asked. But Rebus didn’t answer. He carried the boy to the threshold, kicked open the door, stepped out into sunshine.

‘I’m ... I’m really sorry.’

The boy had a hand across his eyes, unused to the light. He was starting to cry.

‘You know what you did?’

Jordan nodded. ‘I’ve been ... ever since that night. I knew it was bad ...’

Now the tears came.

‘Did they say who I was?’

‘Please don’t kill me.’

‘I’m not going to kill you, Jordan.’

The boy blinked, trying to clear tears from his eyes, the better to know whether he was being lied to.

‘I think you’ve been through enough, pal,’ Rebus said. Then added: ‘I think we both have.’

So after everything, it had come to this. Bob Dylan: ‘Simple Twist of Fate’. Segue to Leonard Cohen: ‘Is This What You Wanted?’

Rebus didn’t know the answer to that.

38

Clean and sober, he went to the hospital. An open ward this time, set hours for visitors. No more darkened vigils. No return visit by Candice, though nurses spoke of regular phone calls by someone foreign-sounding. No way of knowing where she was. Maybe out there searching for her son. It didn’t matter, so long as she was safe. So long as she was in control.

When he reached the ward’s far end, two women rose from their chairs so he could kiss them: Rhona and Patience. He had a carrierbag with him, magazines and grapes. Sammy was sitting up, supported by three pillows, Pa Broon propped beside her. Her hair had been washed and brushed, and she was smiling at him.

‘Women’s magazines,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘They should be on the top-shelf.’

‘I need a few fantasies to sustain me in here,’ Sammy said. Rebus beamed at her, said hello, then bent down and kissed his daughter.

The sun was shining as they walked through The Meadows - a rare day off for both. They held hands and matched people sunbathing and playing football. He knew Rhona was excited, and thought he knew why. But he wasn’t going to spoil things with speculation.

‘If you had a daughter, what mould you call her?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘Haven’t really thought about it.’

‘What about a son?’

‘I quite like Sam.’

‘Sam?’

‘When I was a kid, I had a bear called Sam. My mum knitted it for me. ’

‘Sam .. . ’ She tried the name out. ‘It mould work both ways, wouldn’t it?’