Clarke checked her watch. `Ninety minutes till the changeover.’

`You could do with the heating on,' Rebus offered. Claverhouse turned in his seat.

`That's what I keep telling her, but she won't have it.’

`Why not?’

He caught Clarke's eyes in the rearview. She was smiling.

`Because,' Claverhouse said, `it means running the engine, and running the engine when we're not going anywhere is wasteful. Global warming or something.’

`It's true,' Clarke said.

Rebus winked at her reflection. It looked like she'd been accepted by Claverhouse, which meant acceptance by the whole team at Fettes. Rebus, the perennial outsider, envied her the ability to conform.

`Bloody useless anyway,' Claverhouse continued. `The bugger knows we're here. The van was blown after twenty minutes, the plumber routine didn't even get Ormiston over the threshhold, and now here we are, the only sods on the whole street. We couldn't blend in less if we were doing panto.’

`Visible presence as a deterrent,' Rebus said.

`Aye, right, a few more nights of this and I'm sure Tommy'll be back on the straight and narrow.’

Claverhouse shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. `Any word of Candice?’

Sammy had asked her father the same thing. Rebus shook his head.

`You still think Taravicz snatched her? No chance she did a runner?’

Rebus snorted.

`Just because you want it to be them doesn't mean it was. My advice: leave it to us. Forget about her. You've got that Adolf thing to keep you busy.’

`Don't remind me.’

`Did you ever track down Colquhoun?’

`Sudden holiday. His office got a doctor's line.’

`I think we did for him.’

Rebus realised one of his hands was caressing his breast pocket. `So is Telford in the cafe or what?’