‘I just ... no real reason.’

He didn’t want to say he was a policeman; didn’t want her spooked. ‘No reason,’ he repeated.

As he came off the phone, someone handed him another coffee. ‘That receiver must be red hot.’

He touched it with the tips of his fingers. It was pretty warm. Then it rang and he picked it up again.

‘DI Rebus,’ he said.

‘John, it’s Siobhan.’

‘Hiya, how’s tricks?’

‘John, you remember that guy?’

Her tone was warning him of something.

‘What guy?’

The humour was gone from his voice.

‘Danny Simpson.’

He of the flappy skull; Telford’s lackey.

‘What about him?’

‘I’ve just found out he’s HIV positive. His GP let the hospital know.’

Blood in Rebus’s eyes, his ears, dribbling down his neck ...

‘Poor guy,’ he said quietly.

‘He should have said something at the time.’

‘When?’

‘When we got him to the hospital.’

‘Well, he had other things on his mind, and some of them were in danger of falling off.’

‘Christ, John, be serious for a minute!’ Her voice was loud enough to have people glance up from their desks. ‘You need to get a blood test.’

‘Fine, no problem. How is he, by the way?’

‘Back home but poorly. And sticking to his story.’

‘Do I detect the influence of Telford’s lawyer?’

‘Charles Groal? That one’s so slimy, he’s practically primordial.’

‘Saves you the cost of a valentine.’

‘Look, just phone the hospital. Talk to a Dr Jones. She’ll fix an appointment. They can do a test right away. Not that it’ll be the last word - there’s a three-month incubation.’

‘Thanks, Siobhan.’

Rebus put down the receiver, drummed his fingers against it. Wouldn’t that be a nice irony? Rebus out to get Telford, does the Good Samaritan bit for one of his men, gets AIDS and dies. Rebus stared at the ceiling.

Nice one, Big Man.

The phone rang again. Rebus snatched it up.

‘Switchboard,’ he said.

‘Is that you, John?’

Patience Aitken.

‘The one and only.’

‘Just wanted to check we’re still on for tonight.’

‘To be honest, Patience, I’m not sure I’ll be at my most sparkling.’

‘You want to cancel?’

‘Absolutely not. But I have something to take care of. At the hospital.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘No, I don’t think you understand. It’s not Sammy this time, it’s me.’

‘What’s wrong?’

So he told her.

She went with him. Same hospital Sammy was in, different department. Last thing he wanted was to bump into Rhona, have to explain everything to her. Possibly HIV-infected: chances were, she’d red-card him from the bedside.

The waiting room was white, clean. Lots of information on the walls. Leaflets on every table, as if paperwork was the real virus.

‘I must say, it’s very pleasant for a leper colony.’

Patience didn’t say anything. They were alone in the room. Someone on reception had dealt with him first, then a nurse had come out and taken some details. Now another door opened.

‘Mr Rebus?’