‘Here’s one we’d all rather forget,’ the DJ drawled. ‘But I want to see you up dancing to it anyway, otherwise I might just have to play it again.’

Lieutenant Pigeon: ‘Mouldy Old Dough’. The telephone rang. Rebus leapt to it.

‘Hello?’

‘John? Got the hi-fi loud enough?’

‘I’m at a disco.’

‘At your age? Is this the emergency – you want me to talk you out of there?’

‘No, I want you to describe Eve to me.’

‘Eve?’

‘Uncle Joe Toal’s woman.’

‘I’ve only seen her in photos.’ Jack Morton thought about it. ‘Blonde out of a bottle, face that could bend nails. Twenty or thirty years ago she might have looked like Madonna, but I’m probably being generous.’

Eve, Uncle Joe’s lady – chatting Rebus up in an Aberdeen hotel. Coincidence? Hardly. Readying to pump him for information? Nap hand. And up here with Stanley, the two of them looking pretty cosy … He remembered her words: ‘I’m in sales. Products for the oil industry.’ Yes, Rebus could guess now what kind of products …

‘John?’

‘Yes, Jack?’

‘This phone number, is that an Aberdeen code?’

‘Keep it to yourself. No grassing me up to Ancram.’

‘Just one question …?’

‘What?’

‘Can I really hear “Mouldy Old Dough”?’

Rebus closed the conversation, finished his drink and left. There was a car parked on the other side of the road. The driver lowered his window so Rebus could see him. It was DS Ludovic Lumsden.

Rebus smiled, waved, started to cross the road. He was thinking: I don’t trust you.

‘Hiya, Ludo,’ he said. Just a man who’d been out for a drink and a dance. ‘What brings you here?’

‘You weren’t in your room. I guessed you might be here.’

‘Some guess.’

‘You lied to me, John. You told me about a book of matches from Burke’s Club.’

‘Right.’

‘They don’t do books of matches.’

‘Oh.’

‘Can I give you a lift?’

‘The hotel’s only two minutes away.’

‘John.’ Lumsden’s eyes were cold. ‘Can I give you a lift?’

‘Sure, Ludo.’ Rebus walked around the car and got into the passenger seat.

They drove down to the harbour, parked on an empty street. Lumsden turned off the ignition and turned in his seat.

‘So?’

‘So what?’

‘So you went to Sullom Voe today and didn’t bother to tell me. So why has my patch suddenly become your patch? How would you like it if I started creeping around Edinburgh behind your back?’

‘Am I a prisoner here? I thought I was one of the good guys.’

‘It’s not your town.’

‘I’m beginning to see that. But maybe it’s not your town either.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean who really runs the place, behind the scenes? You’ve got kids going mad with frustration, you’ve got a ready audience for dope and anything else that might give their life a kick. In that club tonight, I saw the lunatic I told you about, Stanley.’

‘Toal’s son?’

‘That’s him. Tell me, is he up here for the floral displays?’