The emotion had drained from Cafferty's voice. He was thinking it over.

`Fine, okay, you'd know: who'd be the first to tell you? Cafferty, you're on the other side of the country. You're in prison. How hard would it be to keep stuff from you?’

`These are men I'd trust with my life.’

Cafferty paused. `They'd tell me.’

`If they knew. If they hadn't been warned not to tell you. See what I'm saying?’

`Two or three gone rogue…’ Cafferty echoed.

`You must have candidates?’

'Jeffries would know.’

'Jeffries? Is that the Weasel's name?’

`Don't let him hear you call him that.’

`Give me his number. I'll talk to him.’

`No, but I'll get him to call you.’

`And if he's part of the breakaway?’

`We don't know there is one.’

`But you admit it makes sense?’

`I admit Tommy Telford's trying to put me in a box.’

Rebus stared from his window. `You mean literally?’

`I've heard word of a contract.’

`But you've got protection?’

Cafferty chuckled. `Strawman, you almost sound concerned.’

`You're imagining things.’

`Look, there are only two ways out of this. One, you deal with Telford. Two, I deal with him. Are we agreed on that? I mean, I'm not the one who went poaching players and territory and putting out frighteners.’

`Maybe he's just more ambitious than you. Maybe he reminds you of the way you used to be.’

`Are you saying I've gone soft?’

`I'm saying it's adapt or die.’

`Have you adapted, Strawman?’

`Maybe a little.’

`Aye, a fucking speck, if that.’

`We're not talking about me though.’

`You're as involved as anyone. Remember that, Strawman. And sweet dreams.’

Rebus put down the phone. He felt exhausted, and depressed. The kids across the way were in bed, shutters closed. He looked around the room. Jack Morton had helped him paint it, back when Rebus was thinking of selling. Jack had helped him off the sauce, too…

He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Got back into the car and headed for Young Street. The Oxford Bar was quiet. A couple of philosophers in the corner, and through in the back-room three musicians who'd packed up their fiddles. He drank a couple of cups of black coffee, then drove to Oxford Terrace. Parked the car outside Patience's flat, turned off the ignition and sat there for a while, jazz on the radio. He hit a good streak: Astrid Gilberto, Stan Getz, Art Pepper, Duke Ellington. Told himself he'd wait till a bad record came on, then go knock on Patience's door.

But by then it was too late. He didn't want to turn up unannounced. It would be… it wouldn't look right. He didn't mind that it smacked of desperation, but he didn't want her to think he was pushing. He started the engine again and moved off, drove around the New Town and down to Granton. Sat by the edge of the Forth, window down, listening to water and the nighttime traffic of HGVs.

Even with eyes closed, he couldn't shut out the world. In fact, in those moments before sleep came, his images were at their most vivid. He wondered what Sammy dreamed about, or even if she dreamed at all. Rhona said that Sammy had come north to be with him. He couldn't think what he'd done to deserve her.

Back into town for an espresso at Gordon's Trattoria, then the hospital: easy to find a parking space this time of night. A taxi was idling outside the entrance. He made his way to Sammy's room, was surprised to see someone there. His first thought: Rhona. The only illumination in the room was that given through the closed curtains. A woman, kneeling by the bed, head resting on the covers. He walked forwards. She heard him, turned, face glistening with tears.

Candice.

Her eyes widened. She stumbled to her feet.

`I wanting see her,' she said quietly.

Rebus nodded. In shadows, she looked even more like Sammy: same build, similar hair and shape to her face. She wore a long red coat, fished in the pocket for a paper hankie.

`I like her,' she said. He nodded again.

`Does Tarawicz know where you are?’ he asked.

She shook her head.

`The taxi outside?’ he guessed.

She nodded. `They went casino. I said sore head.’

She spoke falteringly, checking each word was right before using it.

`Will he find out you've gone?’

She thought about it, shook her head.

`You sleep in the same room?’ Rebus asked.

She shook her head again, smiled. `Jake not liking women.’

This was news to Rebus. Miriam Kenworthy had said something about him marrying an Englishwoman… but put that down to immigration. He remembered the way Tarawicz had pawed Candice, realised now it had been for Telford's benefit. He'd been showing Telford that he could control his women. While Telford… well, Telford had let her get arrested, then be taken in by the Crime Squad. A small sign of rivalry between the two partners. Something to be exploited?

`Is she… will she…?’

Rebus shrugged. `We hope so, Candice.’

She looked down at the floor. `My name is Dunya.’

`Dunya,' he echoed.

`Sarajevo was…’

She looked up at him. `You know, like really. I was escaping… lucky. They all said to me: "You lucky, you lucky".’

She stabbed at her chest with a finger. `Lucky. Survivor.’

She broke down again, and this time he held her.

The Stones: `Soul Survivor'. Only sometimes it was the body alone that survived, the soul eaten into, chewed up by experience.

`Dunya,' he said, repeating her name, reinforcing her true identity, trying to get through to the one part of her she'd kept hidden since Sarajevo. `Dunya, sshhh. It's going to be all right. Sshhh.’

And stroking her hair, her face, his other hand on her back, feeling her tremble. Blinking back his own tears, and watching Sammy's body. The atmosphere in the room crackled like electricity: he wondered if any part of it was reaching Sammy's brain.

`Dunya, Dunya, Dunya…’

She pulled away, turned her back on him. He wouldn't let her go. Walked up to her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

`Dunya,' he said, `how did Tarawicz find you?’

She seemed not to understand. `In Lower Largo, his men found you.’

`Brian,' she said quietly.

Rebus frowned. `Brian Summers?’

Pretty-Boy…

`He tell Jake.’

`He told Tarawicz where you were?’

But why not just take her back to Edinburgh? Rebus thought he knew: she was too dangerous; she'd been too close to the police. Best get her out of the way. Not a killing: that would have implicated all of them. But Tarawicz could control her. Mr Pink Eyes bailing out his friend one more time…

`He brought you here so he could gloat over Telford.’

Rebus was thoughtful. He looked at Candice. What could he do with her? Where would be safe? She seemed to sense his thoughts, squeezed his hand.

`You know I have a…’

She made a cradling motion with her hands.

`A boy,' Rebus said. She nodded. `And Tarawicz knows where he is?’

She shook her head. `The lorries… they took him.’

'Tarawicz's refugee lorries?’

She nodded again. `And you don't know where he is?’

`Jake knows. He says his man…’ she made scuttling motions with her hands `… will kill my boy if…’ Scuttling motions: the Crab. Something struck Rebus. `Why isn't the Crab up here with Tarawicz?’

She was looking at him. 'Tarawicz here,' he said, `Crab in Newcastle. Why?’

She shrugged, looked thoughtful. `He don't come.’

She was remembering some snippet of conversation. `Danger.’

`Dangerous?’

Rebus frowned. `Who for?’

She shrugged again. Rebus took her hands.

`You can't trust him, Dunya. You have to leave him.’

She smiled up at him, eyes glinting. `I tried.’

They looked at one another, held one another for a while. Afterwards, he walked her back out to her taxi.