‘I’m flattered.’

Tarawicz’s grin showed small sharp teeth with gaps between them.

‘I think you know why I’m here,’ Rebus said.

Tarawicz made a show of astonishment. ‘Do I?’

‘Telford needed your help. He needed a home address for Candice, a note to her in Serbo-Croat ...’

‘Is this some sort of riddle?’

‘And now you’ve taken her back.’

‘Have I?’

Rebus took a half-step forward. Tarawicz’s men fanned out either side of their boss. There was a sheen on Tarawicz’s face which could have been sweat or some medical cream.

‘She wanted out,’ Rebus told him. ‘I promised I’d help her. I never break a promise.’

‘She wanted out? She told you that?’

Tarawicz’s voice was teasing.

One of the men behind cleared his throat. Rebus had been wondering about this man, so much smaller and more reticent than the others, better dressed and with sad drooping eyes and sallow skin. Now he knew: lawyer. And the cough was his way of warning Tarawicz that he was saying too much.

‘I’m going to take Tommy Telford down,’ Rebus said quietly. ‘That’s my promise to you. Once he’s in custody, who knows what he’ll say?’

‘I’m sure Mr Telford can look after himself, Inspector. Which is more than can be said for Candice.’

The lawyer coughed again.

‘I want her kept off the streets,’ Rebus said.

Tarawicz stared at him, tiny black pupils like spots of absolute darkness.

‘Can Thomas Telford go about his daily business unfettered?’ he said at last. Behind him, the lawyer almost choked.

‘You know I can’t promise that,’ Rebus said. ‘It’s not me he has to worry about.’

‘Take a message to your friend,’ Tarawicz said. ‘And afterwards, stop being his friend.’

Rebus realised then: Tarawicz was talking about Cafferty. Telford had told him that Rebus was Cafferty’s man.

‘I think I can do that,’ Rebus said quietly.

‘Then do it.’

Tarawicz turned away.

‘And Candice?’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

He stopped, slid his hands into his jacket pockets. ‘Hey, Miriam,’ he said, his back still to them, ‘I like you better in that red two-piece.’

Laughing, he walked away.

‘Get in the car,’ Kenworthy said through gritted teeth. Rebus got into the car. She looked nervous, dropped her keys, bent to retrieve them.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she snapped.

‘The red two-piece?’

She glared at him. ‘I don’t have a red two-piece.’

She did a three point-turn, hitting brakes and accelerator with a little more force than necessary.

‘I don’t get it.’

‘Last week,’ she said, ‘I bought some red underwear ... bra and pants.’

She revved the engine. ‘Part of his little game.’

‘So how does he know?’

‘That’s what I’m wondering.’

She shot past the dogs and out of the gate. Rebus thought of Tommy Telford, and how he’d been watching Rebus’s flat.

‘Surveillance isn’t always one-way,’ he said, knowing now who’d taught Telford the skill. A little later he asked about the scrapyard.

‘He owns it. He’s got a compacter, but before the cars get squashed he likes to play with them. And if you cross him, he welds your seatbelt shut.’