Claverhouse shrugged. `I thought he looked a bit like Danny Simpson.’

`But you're not sure?’

`If it's Danny, a name's about all we can hope to get out of him. Telford picks his boys with care.’

Clarke came towards them along the corridor. She took the coffee from Claverhouse.

`It's Danny Simpson,' she confirmed. `I just got another look, now the blood's been cleaned off.’

She took a swallow of coffee, frowned. `Where's the sugar?’

`You're sweet enough already,' Claverhouse told her.

`Why did they pick on Simpson?’ Rebus asked.

`Wrong place, wrong time?’

Claverhouse suggested.

`Plus he's pretty low down the pecking order,' Clarke added, `making it a gentle hint.’

Rebus looked at her. Short dark hair, shrewd face with a gleam to the eyes. He knew she worked well with suspects, kept them calm, listened carefully. Good on the street, too: fast on her feet as well as in her head.

`Like I say, John,' Claverhouse said, finishing his coffee, `any time you want to head off…’

Rebus looked up and down the empty corridor. `Am I in the way or something?’

`It's not that. But your job's liaison – period. I know the way you work: you get attached to cases, maybe even overattached. Look at Candice. I'm just saying…’

`You're saying, don't butt in?’

Colour rose to Rebus's cheeks: Look at Candice.

`I'm saying it's our case, not yours. That's all.’

Rebus's eyes narrowed. `I don't get it.’

Clarke stepped in. `John, I think all he means is '

`Whoah! It's okay, Siobhan. Let the man speak for himself.’

Claverhouse sighed, screwed up his empty cup and looked around for a bin. `John, investigating Telford means keeping half an eye on Big Ger Cafferty and his crew.’

`And?’

Claverhouse stared at him. `Okay, you want it spelling out? You went to Barlinnie yesterday – news travels in our business. You met Cafferty. The two of you had a chinwag.’