‘And whose side are we on?’

‘We’re the UN, same as always,’ Claverhouse said. He spoke slowly, measuring each word and phrase. A careful man, D S Claverhouse. ‘Meantime, you go charging in like some bloody mercenary.’

‘I’ve never been a great one for tactics. Besides, I wanted to see the bastard close up.’

‘And?’

‘He looks like a kid.’

‘And he’s as clean as a whistle,’ Claverhouse said. ‘He’s got a dozen lieutenants who’d take the fall for him.’

At the word ‘lieutenants’, Rebus’s mind flashed to Joseph Lintz. Some men gave orders, some carried them out: which group was the more culpable? ‘Tell me something,’ he said, ‘the teddy bear story ... is it true?’

Claverhouse nodded. ‘In the passenger seat of his Range Rover. A fucking huge yellow thing, sort they raffle in the pub Sunday lunchtime.’

‘So what’s the story?’

Ormiston turned in his seat. ‘Ever hear of Teddy Willocks? Glasgow hardman. Carpentry nails and a claw-hammer.’

Rebus nodded. ‘You welched on someone, Willocks came to see you with the carpentry bag.’

‘But then,’ Claverhouse took over, ‘Teddy got on the wrong side of some Geordie bastard. Telford was young, making a name for himself, and he very badly wanted an in with this Geordie, so he took care of Teddy.’

‘And that’s why he carries a teddy around with him,’ Ormiston said. ‘A reminder to everyone.’

Rebus was thinking. Geordie meant someone from Newcastle. Newcastle, with its bridges over the Tyne ... , ‘Newcastle,’ he said softly, leaning forward in his seat.

‘What about it?’

‘Maybe Candice was there. Her city of bridges. She might link Telford to this Geordie gangster.’

Ormiston and Claverhouse looked at one another.

‘She’ll need a safe place to stay,’ Rebus told them. ‘Money, somewhere to go afterwards.’

‘A first-class flight home if she helps us nail Telford.’

‘I’m not sure she’ll want to go home.’

‘That’s for later,’ Claverhouse said. ‘First thing is to talk to her.’

‘You’ll need a translator.’

Claverhouse looked at him. ‘And of course you know just the man . . . ?’

She was asleep in her cell, curled under the blanket, only her hair visible. The Mothers of Invention: ‘Lonely Little Girl’. The cell was in the women’s block. Painted pink and blue, a slab to sleep on, graffiti scratched into the walls.

‘Candice,’ Rebus said quietly, squeezing her shoulder. She started awake, as if he’d administered an electric shock. ‘It’s okay, it’s me, John.’

She looked round blindly, focused on him slowly. ‘John,’ she said. Then she smiled.

Claverhouse was off making phone calls, squaring things. ,Ormiston stood in the doorway, appraising Candice. Not that Ormiston was known to be choosy. Rebus had tried Colquhoun at home, but there’d been no answer. So now Rebus was gesturing, letting her know they wanted to take her somewhere.

‘A hotel,’ he said.

She didn’t like that word. She looked from him to Ormiston and back again.

‘It’s okay,’ Rebus said. ‘It’s just a place for you to sleep, that’s all, somewhere safe. No Telford, nothing like that.’