Mae Crumley reached Rebus on his mobile.

‘I thought you’d forgotten me,’ he told Sammy’s boss.

‘Just being methodical, Inspector. I’m sure you’d want no less.’

Rebus stopped at traffic lights. ‘I’ve been in to see Sammy. Is there any news?’

‘Nothing much. So you’ve talked to her clients?’

‘Yes, and they all seemed genuinely upset and surprised. Sorry to disappoint you.’

‘What makes you think I’m disappointed?’

‘Sammy has a good rapport with all her clients. None of them would have wanted her hurt.’

‘What about the ones who didn’t want to be her clients?’

Crumley hesitated. ‘There was one man ... When he was told Sammy had a police inspector for a father, he’d have nothing to do with her.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘It couldn’t have been him though.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he killed himself. His name was Gavin Tay. He used to drive an ice-cream van ...’

Rebus thanked her for her call, and put down the phone. If someone had tried to kill Sammy on purpose, the question was: why? Rebus had been investigating Lintz; Ned Farlowe had been following him. Rebus had twice confronted Telford; Ned was writing a book about organised crime. Then there was Candice ... Could she have told Sammy something, something which might have threatened Telford, or even Mr Pink Eyes? Rebus just didn’t know. He knew the most likely culprit - the most vicious - was Tommy Telford. He remembered their first meeting, and the young gangster’s words to him: That’s the beauty of games. You can always start again after an accident. Not so easy in real life. At the time it had sounded like bravado, a performance for the troops. But now it sounded like a plain threat.

And now there was Mr Taystee, connecting Sammy to Telford.

Mr Taystee had worked Telford’s clubs; Mr Taystee had rejected Sammy. Rebus knew he’d have to talk to the widow.

There was just the one problem. Mr Pink Eyes had intimated that if Telford wasn’t left alone, Candice would suffer. He kept seeing images of Candice: torn from home and homeland; used and abused; abusing herself in the hope of respite; clinging to a stranger’s legs ... He recalled Levy’s words: Can time mash array responsibility? Justice was a fine and noble thing, but revenge ... revenge was an emotion, and so much stronger than an abstract like justice. He wondered if Sammy would want revenge. Probably not. She’d want him to help Candice, which meant yielding to Telford. Rebus didn’t think he could do that.

And now there was Lintz’s murder, unconnected but resonant.

‘I’ve never felt comfortable with the past, Inspector,’ Lintz had said once. Funny, Rebus felt the same way about the present.

Joanne Tay lived in Colinton: a newish three-bedroomed semi with the Merc still parked in the drive.

‘It’s too big for me,’ she explained to Rebus. ‘I’ll have to sell it.’

He wasn’t sure if she meant the house or the car. Having declined her offer of tea, he sat in the busy living-room, ornaments on every flat surface. Joanne Tay was still in mourning: black skirt and blouse, dark grooves beneath her eyes. He’d interviewed her back at the start of the inquiry.