He got as far as the main road, but when a parking bay presented itself, he pulled over. Among all the rejuvenation of Craigmillar, one row of unkempt shops remained. A newsagent/post office, bookmaker, laundrette, barber and nail salon. Plus, at one end, a bar with grilles over both windows and a sign that identified it as the Moorfoot. Aka Jack Oram’s old place, the Potter’s Bar.

‘You used to do this all the time,’ Rebus told himself under his breath. ‘How hard can it be?’

Officers working on an inquiry used to joke that they kept shoemakers in business. You could wear out a decent pair while doorstepping a neighbourhood, asking the same questions at every door, facing the same sights and smells. Faces sullen or antagonistic; wafts of whatever was being fried in the kitchen; almost always a blaring television or growling mongrel. So Rebus wasn’t exactly surprised when, pushing open the door to the newsagent’s, a dog started alerting everyone to his arrival. It was the owner’s German shepherd by the look of things, and its message to Rebus was: don’t mess with my human.

The post office section of the shop was a fortress of security screens and reinforced door. But there was also a counter nearer the front where groceries and cigarettes could be bought. The racks dedicated to newspapers and magazines were almost non-existent, reminding Rebus of the way tastes had shifted in a few short years. He grabbed an Evening News – the thing seemed to be on sale from dawn these days – and showed Oram’s photograph to the woman at the till, who just shrugged and shook her head. He then queued behind a woman who seemed to be sending the contents of an Amazon distribution centre back to base, one box at a time. While he waited, he skimmed the pages of the newspaper. There was a follow-up story on the acid and fire-raising attacks in West Lothian, police apparently investigating a possible connection between the two.

‘Consider me shocked,’ Rebus muttered to himself.

The Royal Mile traders and their shoplifting woes also merited a follow-up, with fresh photos and interviews. The cops and the council came in for the usual drubbing, with a spokesperson from Police Scotland stating by way of defence that patrols would be increased in order to restore confidence in a street considered ‘the jewel in Edinburgh’s tourist crown’.

Having finished reading everything apart from the sports and small ads, Rebus stepped forward, interrupting the customer to ask if he could just put one really quick question to the exasperated-looking man behind the screen. Without waiting for an answer, he held up the photo, receiving another shake of the head. Nothing ventured, he showed it to the customer too, with the same result. He gestured towards her packages.