`A skin complaint,' he explained, removing his blue-tinted glasses. `Some distant cousin of leprosy, they tell me.’

He loosened his top button. `I'm not as pretty as Tommy Telford, but I think you'll find me his master in every other respect.’

A smile to his troops, a smile Rebus wasn't supposed to understand. `We can start anywhere you want, Rebus. And you get to choose when we stop. Just nod your head, tell me where she is, and I walk out of your life forever.’

He got in close to Rebus, the sheen on his face like a protective seal. His pale blue eyes had tiny black pupils. Rebus thought: consumer as well as pusher. Tarawicz waited for a nod which didn't come, then retreated. Found an anglepoise lamp next to Rebus's chair. Planted both feet on its base and yanked on the mains cable, ripping it free.

`Bring him over here,' he ordered. Two men pulled both Rebus and chair over towards where Tarawicz was checking that the cable was plugged into the wall and that the socket was switched on. Another man closed the curtains: no free show for the kids across the way. Tarawicz was dangling the cable, letting Rebus see the loose wires – the very live wires. Two-hundred-and-forty volts just waiting to make his acquaintance.

`Believe me,' Tarawicz said, `this is nothing. The Serbs had torture down to a fine art. Much of the time, they weren't even looking for a confession. I've helped a few of the more intelligent ones, the ones who knew when it was time to run. There was money to be made in the early days, power for the taking. Now the politicians are moving in, bringing trial-judges with them.’

He looked at Rebus. `The intelligent ones always know when it's time to quit. One last chance, Rebus. Remember, a nod of the head…’

The wires were inches from his cheek. Tarawicz changed his mind, moved them towards his nostrils, then his eyeballs.

`A nod of the head…’

Rebus was twisting, arms holding him down – his legs, arms, shoulders. Hands holding his head, chest. Wait! The shock would pass straight through Tarawicz's men! Rebus saw it for a bluff. His eyes met Tarawicz's, and they both knew. Tarawicz pulled back.

`Tape him to the chair.’

Two-inch-wide runs of tape, fixing him in place.

`This time for real, Rebus.’

To his men: `Hold him till I get close. Pull away when I say.’

Rebus thinking: there'd be a split-second after they let go… A moment in which to break free. The tape wasn't the strongest he'd seen, but there was plenty of it. Maybe too much. He flexed his chest against it, felt no sign that it would break.

`Here we go,' Tarawicz said. `First the face… then the genitals. You mill tell me, we both know it. How much bravado you want to show is up to you, but don't think it means anything.’

Rebus said something behind the gag.

`No point talking,' Tarawicz said. `The only thing I want from you is a nod, understood?’

Rebus nodded.

`Was that a nod?’

Forcing a smile, Rebus shook his head.

Tarawicz didn't look impressed. His mind was on business. That was all Rebus was to him. He aimed the wire at Rebus's cheek.

`Let go!' The pressure on Rebus fell away. He pushed against his bonds, couldn't budge them. Electricity flashed through his nervous system, and he went rigid. His heart felt like it had doubled in size, his eyeballs bulged, tongue pushing against the gag. Tarawicz lifted the cable away.

`Hold him.’

Arms fell on Rebus again, finding less resistance than before.

`Doesn't even leave a mark,' Tarawicz said. `And the real beauty is, you end up paying for it from your own electric bill.’

His men laughed. They were beginning to enjoy themselves.

Tarawicz crouched down, face to face. His eyes sought Rebus's.

`For your information, that was a five-second jolt. Things only start to get interesting at the half-minute mark. How's your heart? For your sake, I hope it's in good condition.’

Rebus felt like he'd just mainlined adrenaline. Five seconds: it had seemed much longer. He was changing strategies, trying to think up some new lies Mr Pink might believe, anything to get him out of the flat…

`Undo his trousers,' Tarawicz was saying. `Let's see what a jolt down there will do.’

Behind the gag, Rebus started screaming. His tormentor was looking around the room again.

`Definitely lacks the feminine touch.’

Hands were loosening his trouser-belt. They stopped when a buzzer sounded. There was someone at the main door.

`Just wait,' Tarawicz said quietly. `They'll go away.’

The buzzer sounded again. Rebus wrestled with his bonds. Silence. Then the buzzer again, more insistent now. One of the men went for the window.

`Don't!' Tarawicz snapped.

Buzzer again. Rebus hoped it would go on forever. Couldn't think who it might be: Rhona? Patience? A sudden thought… what if they persisted, and Tarawicz decided to allow them inside? Rhona or Patience…

Time stretched. No more buzzing. They'd gone away. Tarawicz was beginning to relax, focusing his mind on his work once more.

Then there was a knock at the flat door. The person had got into the tenement. Now they were on the landing outside. Knocking again. Lifting the flap of the letterbox.

`Rebus!' A male voice. Tarawicz looked to his men, nodded another signal. Curtains were opened; Rebus's bonds cut; the tape ripped from his face. Tarawicz rolled down his sleeves, put his jacket back on. Left the flex lying on the floor. One last word to Rebus: `We'll speak again.’

Then he marched his men to the door, opened it.

`Excuse us.’

Rebus was left sitting on the chair. He couldn't move, felt too shaky to stand up.

`Hang on a minute, chief!' Rebus placed the voice: Abernethy. It didn't sound as if Tarawicz was heeding the Special Branch man.

`What's the score?’

Now Abernethy was in the living-room, looking around.

`Business meeting,' Rebus croaked.

Abernethy came forward. `Funny old business where you have to unzip your flies.’

Rebus looked down, started to make repairs.

`Who was that?’

Abernethy persisted.

`A Chechen from Newcastle.’

`Likes to travel mob-handed, does he?’

Abernethy walked around the room, found the bare flex and tut-tutted, unplugged it at the socket. `Fun and games,' he said.

`Don't worry,' Rebus told him, `it's under control.’

Abernethy laughed.

`What do you want anyway?’

`Brought someone to see you.’

He nodded towards the doorway. A distinguished-looking man was standing there, dressed in three quarter-length black woollen coat and white silk scarf. He was completely bald, with a huge dome of a head and cheeks reddened from cold. He had a sniffle, and was wiping his nose with a handkerchief.

`Thought we might pop out somewhere,' the man said, locution impeccable, his eyes everywhere but on Rebus. `Get a spot to eat, if you're hungry.’

`I'm not,' Rebus said.

`Something to drink then.’

`There's whisky in the kitchen.’

The man looked reluctant.

`Look, pal,' Rebus told him, `I'm staying right here. You can join me or you can bugger off.’

`I see,' the man said. He put the handkerchief away and stepped forward, stretched out a hand. `Name's Harris, by the way.’

Rebus took the hand, expecting sparks to leap from his fingertips.

`Mr Harris, let's sit at the dining-table.’

Rebus got to his feet. He was shaky, but his knees held till he'd crossed the floor. Abernethy appeared from the kitchen with the bottle and three glasses. Left again, and returned with a milk-jug of water.

Ever the host, Rebus poured, sizing up the trembling in his right arm. He felt disoriented. Adrenaline and electricity coursing through him.

`Slainte,' he said, lifting the glass. But he paused with it at his nostrils. Pact with the Big Man: no drinking, and Sammy back. His throat hurt when he swallowed, but he put the glass down untouched. Harris was pouring too much water into his own glass. Even Abernethy looked disapproving.