‘He does business with Tommy.’

‘And to protect that, he needs to have me warned off by a cop?’

Cafferty was shaking his head. ‘You really buy that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Rebus said.

‘One way to finish this.’

Cafferty paused. ‘Take Telford out of the game.’

He saw the look on Rebus’s face. ‘I don’t mean top him, I mean put him away. That should be your job, Strawman.’

‘I only came to deliver a message.’

‘And what’s in it for you? Something in Newcastle?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Are you Tarawicz’s man now?’

‘You know me better than that.’

‘Do I?’

Cafferty sat back in his chair, stretched out his legs. ‘I wonder about that sometimes. I mean, it doesn’t keep me awake at night, but I wonder all the same.’

Rebus leaned on the table. ‘You must have a bit salted away. Why can’t you just be content with that?’

Cafferty laughed. The air felt charged; there might have been only the two of them left in the world. ‘You want me to retire?’

‘A good boxer knows when to stop.’

‘Then neither of us would be much cop in the ring, would we? Got any plans to retire, Strawman?’

Despite himself, Rebus smiled.

‘Thought not. Do I have to say something for you to take back to Tarawicz?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘That wasn’t the deal.’

‘Well, if he does come asking, tell him to get some life insurance, the kind with death benefits.’

Rebus looked at Cafferty. Prison might have softened him, but only physically.

‘I’d be a happy man if someone took Telford out of the game,’ Cafferty went on. ‘Know what I mean, Strawman? It’d be worth a lot to me.’

Rebus stood up. ‘No deal,’ he said. ‘Personally, I’d be happy if you wiped one another out. I’d be jumping for joy at ring-side.’

‘Know what happens at ring-side?’

Cafferty rubbed at his temples. ‘You tend to get spattered with blood.’

‘As long as it’s someone else’s.’

The laughter came from deep within Cafferty’s chest. ‘You’re not a spectator, Strawman. It’s not in your nature.’

‘And you’re some kind of psychologist?’

‘Maybe not,’ said Cafferty. ‘But I know what gets people excited.’

Book Three

‘Cover my face as the animals cry.’

Running through the hospital, stopping nurses to ask directions. Sweat dripping off him, tie hanging loose around his neck. Taking right turns, left turns, looking for signs. Whose fault? He kept asking himself that. A message which failed to reach him. Because he was on a surveillance. Because he wasn’t in radio contact. Because the station didn’t know how important the message was.

Nom running, a stitch in his side. He’d run all the way from the car.

Up two flights of stairs, down corridors. The place was quiet. Middle of the night.

‘Maternity!’ he called to a man pushing a trolley. The man pointed to a set of doors. He pushed through them. Three nurses in a glass cubicle. One of them came out.