Back in the room, he explained the situation to Rhona. A suitcase and large holdall were sitting behind one of the machines.

‘Listen,’ he told her, ‘it’d make sense if you stayed at the flat. It’s only ten minutes away, and I could let you have the car.’

She was shaking her head. ‘We’re booked into the Sheraton.’

‘The flat’s nearer, and I tend not to charge ...’

We? Rebus looked at Mickey, whose eyes were on the bed. Then the door opened and a man came in. Short, thickly built, breathing hard. He was rubbing his hands to let everyone know he’d been to the toilet. Loose folds of flesh furrowed his brow and bulged from his shirt collar. His hair was thick and black, like an oil-slick. He stopped when he saw Rebus.

‘John,’ Rhona said, ‘this is a friend of mine, Jackie.’

‘Jackie Platt,’ the man said, reaching out a plump hand.

‘When Jackie heard, he insisted on driving me up.’

Platt shrugged, his head almost disappearing into his shoulders. ‘Couldn’t have her training it up on her ownio.’

‘Hell of a drive,’ Mickey said, his tone hinting at repetition.

‘Could have done without the roadworks,’ Jackie Platt agreed. Rebus’s eyes caught Rhona’s; she looked away quickly, dodging reproach.

To Rebus, this bulk didn’t belong. It was as if a character had wandered on to the wrong set. Platt hadn’t been in the script.

‘She looks so peaceful, don’t she?’ the Londoner was saying, making for the bed. He touched her arm, Sammy’s bandaged arm, grazing it with the back of his hand. Rebus’s fingernails dug into his palms.

Then Platt yawned. ‘You know, Rhona, it might not be good manners, but I think I’m about to crash. See you back at the hotel?’

She nodded, relieved. Platt picked up the suitcase. As he passed her, his hand went into his trouser pocket, came out with a fold of banknotes.

‘Get a cab back, all right?’

‘All right, Jackie. See you later.’

‘Cheers, pet.’

And he squeezed her hand. ‘Take care, Mickey. All the best, John.’

A huge, face-creasing wink, then he was gone. They waited in silence for a few seconds. Rhona held up her free hand, the one without the wad of notes.

‘Not a word, okay?’

‘Furthest thing from my mind,’ Rebus said, sitting down. ’“Think I’m about to crash”. Tactful or what?’

‘Come on, Johnny,’ Mickey said. Johnny: only Mickey could do that, using the name so that the years fell from both of them. Rebus looked at his brother and smiled. Mickey was a therapist by profession; he knew the things to say.

‘Why the cases?’ Rebus asked Rhona.

‘What?’

‘You’re going to a hotel, why not leave them in his car?’

‘I thought about staying here. They said I could if I wanted to. Only then I saw her ... and I changed my mind.’

Tears started down her face, smudging already-smudged mascara. Mickey had a handkerchief ready.

‘John, what if she ... ? Oh, Jesus Christ, why did this have to happen?’