She thought of McDade’s hand hovering over his pocket, wondered if his phone had been in there: an open line, letting Cairns and Raeside hear what was going on and where they were headed. Maybe they had followed the van discreetly from the start, waiting out of sight as McDade walked into the office and played his part. And maybe it had been McDade’s task to lead them here to this place one way or the other.

McDade reappeared at the front of the van, a clear plastic bag in his hand. He approached Fallan cautiously and took hold of the Beretta he was holding out, gripping it through the cellophane and inverting the bag like he was picking up a dog turd.

Fallan let out a grunt of self-reproach.

McDade handed Raeside the bagged Beretta and took hold of the shotgun, keeping it trained on Jasmine.

‘I take it that was the weapon you used to kill Frankie Callahan, Gary Fleeting and Tommy Miller?’ Fallan asked.

‘Aye,’ said Cairns. ‘And now it’s only your prints that are on it.’

‘Quality fit-up. My old man would have been proud.’

‘Nothing personal, son. Just the way things have worked out.’

‘Naw, sure. Fletcher there was telling me all about it on the road up. I was that moved I was near greetin’. It’s almost an honour to be part of it.’

‘Don’t saddle up the high horse around us, son,’ Cairns hissed. ‘We’d have a long way to fall before we’d even be in sight of you.’

‘Prove it, then,’ Fallan said. ‘Let the lassie go. She’s got nothing on you. You can move the bodies. She’s too scared to do anything. Pay her off: she takes some money, she’s part of this.’

‘I don’t need money,’ Jasmine pleaded. ‘I’ll keep quiet, forget about everything. I just don’t want to die.’

There was a painfully tense silence. At least they were thinking about it.

‘He’s got a point,’ said McDade. ‘If she disappears, it’s another missing person that could lead back to the Ramsays.’

‘What?’ asked Cairns. ‘You think “could lead back to the Ramsays” is less of a risk than leaving somebody out there who knows everything for fucking definite?’

‘At least don’t kill her until she’s told you about Campbell de Morgan,’ Fallan said. ‘Because that might have a strong bearing on your decision.’

‘About who?’ Cairns demanded.

‘Campbell de Morgan,’ Jasmine repeated clearly, for the benefit of everybody listening. ‘He was a surgeon, gave his name to these tiny red spots that can appear on your skin. Do you know what they signify?’

‘No, what?’ Cairns asked impatiently. ‘Cancer?’