‘And it hadn’t been forced when I got here.’

‘So?’

‘So how did the landlady’s “boy” get in?’ He took Lumsden back to the bathroom and they examined the door: with the turn of a screwdriver, it could be locked and unlocked from the outside.

‘You want us to treat this as murder?’ Lumsden said. ‘You think this guy Stanley walked in here, spiked Mr Kane, dragged him along to the bathroom, and sliced his wrists open? We just passed half a dozen bedroom doors and came up two flights of stairs – don’t you think somebody might have noticed?’

‘Have you asked them?’

‘I’m telling you, John, no one saw anything.’

‘And I’m telling you this has Joseph Toal written all over it.’

Lumsden was shaking his head. He’d rolled up the magazine. It was sticking out of his jacket pocket. ‘All I see here is a suicide. And from what you’ve told me, I’m glad to see the back of the fucker, end of story.’

The same patrol car took Rebus back into the city, still keeping the wrong side of the speed limit.

Rebus felt wide awake. He paced his room, smoked three cigarettes. The city outside his cathedral windows was finally asleep. The adult pay-movie channel was still available. The only other thing on offer was beach volleyball from California. For want of any other distraction he got out the flyers from the demo. They made depressing reading. Mackerel and other species of fish were now ‘commercially extinct’ in the North Sea, while others, including haddock – staple of the fish supper – wouldn’t survive the millennium. Meantime, there were 400 oil installations out there which would one day become redundant, and if they were simply dumped along with their heavy metals and chemicals … bye-bye fishies.

Of course, it might be that the fish were for the crow road anyway: nitrates and phosphates from sewage, plus agricultural fertilisers … all drained into the seas. Rebus felt worse than ever, tossed the flyers into the bin. One of them didn’t make it, and he picked it up. It told him there was going to be a march and rally on Saturday, with a benefit concert headlined by the Dancing Pigs. Rebus binned it and decided to check his answering machine at home. There were two calls from Ancram, agitated verging on furious, and one from Gill, telling him to call her whatever the hour. So he did.

‘Hello?’ She sounded like someone had gummed up her mouth.

‘Sorry it’s so late.’

‘John.’ She paused to check the time. ‘It’s so late it’s practically early.’

‘Your message said …’

‘I know.’ She sounded like she was struggling to sit up in bed, yawned mightily. ‘Howdenhall worked on that message pad, used ESDA on it, electrostatics.’

‘And?’

‘Came up with a phone number.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Aberdeen code.’

Rebus felt his spine tingle. ‘Where in Aberdeen?’

‘It’s the payphone in some discotheque. Hang on, I’ve got the name here … Burke’s Club.’