‘I don’t know any Candice.’

‘Understood?’

‘Hang on, let’s see if I’ve got this. You want me to agree with you that a woman I’ve never met should stop touting her hole?’

Smiles from the spectators. Telford turned back to his game. ‘Where’s this woman from anyway?’ he asked, almost casually.

‘We’re not sure,’ Rebus lied. He didn’t want Telford knowing any more than was necessary.

‘Must have been a great little chat the two of you had.’

‘She’s scared shitless.’

‘Me, too, Rebus. I’m scared you’re going to bore me to death. This Candice, did she give you a taste of the goods? I’m betting it’s not every scrubber would get you this het up.’

Laughter, Rebus its brunt.

‘She’s off the game, Telford. Don’t think about touching her.’

‘Not with a bargepole, pal. Myself, I’m a clean-living sort of individual. I say my prayers last thing at night.’

‘And kiss your cuddly bear?’

Telford looked at him again. ‘Don’t believe all the stories, Inspector. Here, grab a bacon sarnie on your way out, I think there’s one going spare.’

Rebus stood his ground a few moments longer, then turned away. ‘And tell the mugs out front I said hello.’

Rebus walked back through the arcade and out into the night, heading for Nicolson Street. He was wondering what he was going to do with Candice. Simple answer: let her go, and hope she had the sense to keep moving. As he made to pass a parked car, its window slid down.

‘Fucking well get in,’ a voice ordered from the passenger seat. Rebus stopped, looked at the man who’d spoken, recognised the face.

‘Ormiston,’ he said, opening the back door of the Orion. ‘Now I know what he meant.’

‘Who?’

‘Tommy Telford. I’m to tell you he said hello.’

The driver stared at Ormiston. ‘Rumbled again.’

He didn’t sound surprised. Rebus recognised the voice.

‘Hello, Claverhouse.’

DS Claverhouse, DC Ormiston: Scottish Crime Squad, Fettes’s finest. On surveillance. Claverhouse: as thin as ‘twa ply o’ reek’, as Rebus’s father would have said. Ormiston: freckle-faced and with Mick McManus’s hair - slick, puddingbowl cut, unfeasibly black.

‘You were blown before I walked in there, if that’s any consolation.’

‘What the fuck were you doing?’

‘Paying my respects. What about you?’

‘Wasting our time,’ Ormiston muttered.

The Crime Squad were out for Telford: good news for Rebus.

‘I’ve got someone,’ he said. ‘She works for Telford. She’s frightened. You could help her.’

‘The frightened ones don’t talk.’

‘This one might.’

Claverhouse stared at him. ‘And all we’d have to do is ...?’

‘Get her out of here, set her up somewhere.’

‘Witness relocation?’

‘If it comes to that.’

‘What does she know?’

‘I’m not sure. Her English isn’t great.’

Claverhouse knew when he was being sold something. ‘Tell us,’ he said.

Rebus told them. They tried not to look interested.

‘We’ll talk to her,’ Claverhouse said.

Rebus nodded. ‘So how long has this been going on?’

‘Ever since Telford and Cafferty squared off.’