'Came in from where?'

'Extracted from a tree in the Hermitage.'

'What happened exactly?'

'No idea.'

'So who can I talk to?'

'I can let you know that when you come in.'

'Fine. An hour then.'

'Any later and we'll have shut up shop for the day.'

'Justice never sleeps.'

'Maybe not. But it does have a darts match and a late supper with the girlfriend.'

The phone went dead in her hand just as Ogilvie returned from the kitchen with a large white bin bag.

'Brabantia,' he said. 'Only the best for his lordship.' Then he saw the look on Clarke's face.

'Same day someone took a potshot at Cafferty, a bullet was fired into a tree in The Hermitage. That's not a million miles from Cafferty's neighbourhood, is it?'

'Not a million miles, no. Actually, probably less than two.'

'That's what I thought,' Clarke said, helping Ogilvie manoeuvre the drawer into the bag.

Cafferty was in the back seat, the two bodyguards in front of him. Andrew Goodman's office was above a glazier's on a narrow street near Haymarket, the drive from Cafferty's house taking less than seven minutes.

'Wish I'd known,' Cafferty said, as Goodman met him at the door. The two men shook hands and Goodman led Cafferty inside.

'That I'm so close to yours?'

'That you're above a glazier's,' Cafferty corrected him.

'Right enoughmight have been a deal to be done there. Want a coffee or anything?'

Cafferty shook his head. 'I'm here to pay what I owe you.'

Goodman raised an eyebrow as he settled himself behind his desk. He was tall and toned and shaven-headed, with piercing blue eyes. 'You're finished with my lads?'

'I've an overnight bag in the back of their car. Going to lay low for a bit.'

Goodman was thoughtful. 'They could still be useful, though.'

But Cafferty shook his head. He pulled a roll of banknotes from his coat and peeled off ten.

'This enough?'

'It'll do. Want a receipt?'

'That won't be necessary.' Cafferty stepped forward and placed the notes on the desk. As Goodman stretched out a hand to take them, Cafferty snatched at the man's wrist, gripping it hard.

'What did the Starks say to you, Andrew?'

'I already told you.' Goodman's gaze was steady.

'But did you tell me the truth?'

'They're looking for Hamish Wright. But they're more interested in something he has that belongs to themwouldn't say what, but we can both guess.'

'Did they mention Darryl Christie at all?'

'Why should they?'

'It's an answer I want, rather than another fucking question.'

'They didn't. But I hear they've just roughed up Chick Carpenter.'

'The storage guy?'

Goodman nodded.

'Used him once or twice myself,' Cafferty mused. 'Before he started getting pally with young Darryl.' He released his grasp. Goodman snatched his hand back.

'Sorry about that,' Cafferty said. 'I might be just a bit more on edge than usual. Is Carpenter okay?'

'I heard he's in A and E.'

'Darryl won't be happy about that.'

'I wouldn't think.'

'Bad times on the horizon.'

'Thing is, every lowlife in town knows something's up. If the Starks were clever, they'd have been making daily trips from the west rather than hanging around like a fart under a duvet.'

'They want to be seen. They want the word out that they're after someone or something. That way, maybe the right info will come to them rather than them having to hunt it down.'

'I see that, but it means everyone's out on the chaseand most will want to keep whatever they find to themselves. It's turning into a feeding frenzy.'

'Except without any sign of the actual prey.' Cafferty dug his hands deep into his pockets and straightened his shoulders. 'I want you to be my eyes and ears, Andrew. I'll call you every day.' He paused. 'If that's all right with you.'

'Fine and dandy. So where will you-' Goodman broke off. 'Sorry, stupid question.'

'I'm going to phone for a taxi and fetch my bag from the car.'

'Sure thing.' Goodman got up from the desk.

'And if word of my little disappearing act gets back to anyonethe Starks or Christie or anyone I'll know who to blame. Okay?'

'You don't need to worry about me. And remember, I'm ex-armyin your situation, I'd be doing exactly the same. If all you know is that the enemy's out there somewhere, you keep your head down until it gets close enough to make a target.'

Cafferty was nodding as the two men descended the stairs. He took out his phone and ordered a cab, without giving a precise destination.

'City centre,' was all he said.

Meaningless, Goodman knew. Once he was in the cab, he could order the driver anywhereenough cash on him for a trip to Fife, or maybe even Glasgow. Cafferty shook hands with both bodyguards as they handed him his bag. It was a large brown leather holdall, and it looked laden.

The cab arrived quickly, Cafferty clambering into the back and slamming the door shut. The three men watched it move off.

'Want us to tail him?' Goodman was asked.

He shook his head slowly. 'Did you take a look in the bag, though?'

'There's a lock on it. Felt like clothes mostly, plus a laptop.'

Goodman ran his tongue over his lips as the cab disappeared from view. 'Well, good luck to him,' he said. 'By which, of course, I mean the exact bloody opposite.'

He headed back upstairs to make a call.

The flat in Quartermile had been a recent purchasejust one small brick in Cafferty's property empire. He hadn't got round to letting it yet. Place was only half furnished, though the developer had added a few nice touches, including a wicker basket of food and drink. Quartermile had been the old infirmary, its original red sandstone blocks now joined by new-build steel and glass towers. The two-bedroom flat was in one of these new additions, and not quite at the penthouse level. But it had views over the Meadows, and there were shops, cafes and pubs nearby. The university was practically next door, meaning lots of students, but that was fine with Caffertystudents wouldn't know him from any other bugger of an age they could reliably ignore.

The flat had both landline and Wi-Fi, so Cafferty plugged his laptop into a wall socket and booted it up. The password was on a Post-it note attached to one of the kitchen cupboards. He typed it in, loosened his shoulders and got busy.

Lord Minton. David Minton. There had to be something, some criminal trial, some bribe, some cover-up. He stared hard at photos of the man in various stages of his life, but no memories were stirred. The problem was, he couldn't concentratethe Starks kept getting in the way. He called a guy he knew in Glasgow, who told him Joe was back in the city but Dennis hadn't been seen in a while, 'which is like an unexpected holiday for some of us, so feel free to keep him'. Cafferty considered getting in touch with Joe, maybe telling him to shove his nutjob son back in the kennel. Then again, by putting Chick Carpenter in hospital, Dennis was heading ever closer to a collision with Darryl Christie. If Joe's intention had been to cosy up to Christie, Dennis was putting that in jeopardy. Dennis against DarrylCafferty wouldn't mind a ringside seat at that particular bout. Dennis all testosterone and big swinging punches; Darryl using brains and guile to plot his opponent's demise. How many men had Dennis brought with him? Not as many as Darryl would have. If reinforcements were called for from the west coast, well, it really would start to get messy.

'Good and messy,' Cafferty muttered to himself.

On the other hand, there was an outside chance that an alliance was in the offing, the Starks showing Darryl how much he needed their friendship, or how chaotic things could become if he didn't accept that helping hand. Cafferty had long known that the world of the gangster was the world of the capitalist. Markets had to be created, sustained and expanded, competition nullified. Bigger meant safer, and there was definitely shrinkage in Glasgow. The old skills of the moneylender had all but disappearedor rather had succumbed to legitimate competition. The interest rates advertised on daytime TV weren't so dissimilar to those offered on the street, but without the threat of a hammer or a nail gun should repayments falter. A lot of the money made from protection and prostitutes had been curtailed too, thanks to the legal system stamping down harder. Drugs were still the safest bet, but bringing them into the country was always fraught.

Cafferty heard the stories from old hands and newer onestimes were tough, meaning the Starks needed either fresh alliances or new realms to conquer. He couldn't know for sure that the missing haulier and his hidden treasure weren't a convenient smokescreen. Nor could he say as yet that either Darryl Christie or the Starks had aimed that gun at him. Which was why he turned back to the internet and started loading fresh pages about Lord Minton. If Minton had put away a Stark associate or a friend of Christie's, he might be on the road to an answer.

The view across the Meadows towards Marchmont faded as the sun dipped below the horizon. Rebus lived in Marchmont. Cafferty knew he could count on the man as an ally only so far. Rebus still had a cop's instincts, meaning he would take Cafferty down if he thought there was a halfway-decent chance of a conviction. On the other hand, war breaking out on the streets was in no one's interests. If it were to happen, the police would target both Dennis Stark and Darryl Christie.

And if those pieces were removed from the board, Cafferty would be the only player left.

The only player in town.

13.

The back room of the Oxford Bar, the corner table by the fire.

'I'd like to convene this meeting,' Rebus announced, placing the three drinks on the table. Fox and Clarke had settled themselves, removing coats and scarves. Fox was on tonic water, Clarke the same but with the addition of two measures of gin. 'Cheers,' Rebus said, seating himself opposite them.

'Have you spoken to Page yet?' Clarke asked.

'Give me a chance,' Rebus answered, taking a sip from his pint. Then, for Fox's benefit: 'DCI Page seems to think I might be a valuable addition to the team.'

'And what's brought about this miracle?'

Clarke explained about the note Cafferty had received.

'By the way,' Rebus added, 'Big Ger thinks your haulier may be dead and buried.'

'Not possibleCompston would know.'

Rebus shrugged. 'Maybe Compston does know. Maybe he's not been entirely frank with you.'

'Besides,' Fox went on, 'Cafferty doesn't have anyone on the inside, does he?'

Rebus just shrugged again. Clarke was looking from one man to the other.

'What are you two talking about?'

Rebus raised an eyebrow at Fox. 'You've not said?'

Now it was Fox's turn to bring Clarke up to date.

'Hang on,' Rebus eventually interrupted. 'They went to the Gimlet?'

Fox nodded. 'But they were only inside a couple of minutes, meaning Davie Dunn probably wasn't there.'

'And this was after they'd given Carpenter a doing outside his own premises?' Rebus was bristling.

'Easy, John,' Clarke advised him. 'You're not CID these days.'

'Everyone keeps telling me that, but I'll be buggered if I sit around and let my city get turned over by a streak of piss like Dennis Stark.'

'A noble sentiment,' Clarke said, attempting levity, 'but let's try and keep a sense of perspective. Your job is to advise us, John. The Starks need to be left to Malcolm and his merry men.'

Rebus gave Fox a hard stare, then turned back to Clarke. 'Thing is, Compston's men were watching when Dennis Stark thumped the storage guy, and they made no move to step in or break it up. A man could have been killed, and I'm willing to bet Compston would have sat on his hands.'

'Is that right, Malcolm?' Clarke asked quietly.

'Of course it's right,' Rebus spat. 'We could have the son in custody right now, charged with assault. But that's not good enough for Compston: he wants the full setfather and son, drugs and moneyso that his boss, our glorious Chief Constable, can look good on TV. Wouldn't you say that's the case, DI Fox?'

The table was silent for a moment, Fox concentrating on the ice cubes in his glass.