‘They’re running ambushes now,’ Louise said in her lugubrious Tyneside drawl, igniting a cigarette with a gold lighter shaped like a tiny revolver. ‘Picking us off. Can you believe it? Stu Langley got a call in the early hours of the morning. Some woman saying she’d just moved into a new house and there was a ghost in the bloody downstairs lavvy. He told her he’d come the next morning, but she started crying and pleading. Laying it on thicker and thicker, she was, and Stu’s too polite to hang up on her. So in the end he got dressed and went out there. I’d have told her to hold it in or piss out of the window.

‘Anyway, he gets to this place, out in Gypsy Hill somewhere, and look at that. There’s a house with a FOR SALE sign up, exactly where she said it would be, and the front door’s open. So he went on in, like a bloody idiot. Didn’t stop to ask himself why there were no lights on, or why the sign still said FOR SALE if this whingeing old biddy had already moved in.

‘There were four of them, with baseball bats. They laid into him so hard they put him in a coma. He lasted for a week and then they turned the machine off. I’m telling you, Fix, they won’t be happy until they’ve killed us all.’

‘Won’t do them much good if they do,’ I observed, shaking my head as Louise offered me a drag on the cigarette. ‘Exorcism is in the human genome now. Probably always was, only it didn’t show itself until there was something there to use it on. Killing us doesn’t make the problem go away.’

She blew smoke out of her nose, hard. ‘No, but beating the shit out of a few of us gives the rest of us something to think about.’

Another knot of mourners walked on past us, heading for their cars. One of them was the acid-blonde girl, walking alongside two guys I didn’t know, and she gave me another killing look as she passed.

‘Any idea who that is?’ I asked Louise, rolling my eyes to indicate who or&indicatI meant without being too obvious about it.

‘Which one?’

‘The girl.’

Louise expelled breath in a forced sigh and made a weary face.

‘Dana McClennan.’

‘McClennan?’ Something inside me lurched and settled at an odd angle. ‘Any relation to the late, great Gabriel McClennan?’

‘Daughter,’ said Louise. ‘And she’s following on in the family tradition, Fix. Bigger arsehole than he was, if anything. When she found out Larry was HIV positive, she backed off at a hundred miles an hour. You’d think he’d tried to give her a Frenchie or something. Or maybe she thinks you can catch it by talking about it, like my mum.’

I didn’t answer. The mention of Gabe McClennan’s name had triggered a whole lot of very unpleasant memories, most of them dating from the night when I’d killed him. Okay, it was kind of by proxy: actually I just made it really easy for someone else to kill him. It wasn’t like he left me much choice, either, since he was out for my blood; and the wolf I threw him to was one he’d brought to the party himself, so you could say what goes around comes around. Lots of great arguments to mix and match. None of them made me feel any better about it, though: and there was no way I’d ever be able to explain it to the wife and kid he left behind.

‘So what’s she doing here?’ I asked.

‘She came with Bourbon. I think he put the word out at the Oriflamme that John was going into the ground today – said he’d lay on cars for any exorcists who wanted to come along.’

‘She’s a ghostbreaker?’

Louise shrugged. ‘That’s what she’s calling herself, yes. Following in father’s footsteps. I don’t know if she’s any good or not.’

I took it on the chin, but it wasn’t great news. If Gabe’s daughter was in the same line of business as me now, and if she was operating in London, then we were going to keep running across each other’s trails whether we liked it or not. Not a happy prospect. I watched Gabe’s daughter down to the gates: saw her stop, her two escorts walking on without her, and exchange words with the Breathers on picket duty. Someone ought to have a word with her about that: it’s not a great idea to encourage the lunatic fringe.

‘How’s the music going?’ I asked, in a ham-fisted effort to raise the mood. Louise played bass in a band that had had many more names than gigs. I had a vague feeling that their current nom de sound-stage was something vaguely punk, like All-Star Wank, but it would be something different tomorrow.

‘It’s good,’ Louise said. ‘It’s going good. We’ve got a new manager. He reckons he can get us in at the Spitz.’

Larry Tallowhill came up alongside Louise at this point and slid an arm around her waist. ‘Felix Castor,’ he said, with mock sternness. ‘Leave my fucking woman alone.’"

"‘Can I help it if I’m irresistible?’ I asked. ‘How are the new drugs working?’

Larry shrugged expansively. ‘They’re great,’ he said.