‘Did you ask him?’

Rebus lit a cigarette, wound down the window so he could flick the ash out. ‘He didn’t see me.’

‘You think we should question him about Tony El.’ A statement of fact, no answer required. ‘What would he tell us – “sure, I did it”? Come on, John.’

A woman was knocking on the window. Lumsden lowered it, and she was into her spiel.

‘Two of you, well, I don’t normally do threesomes but you look like nice … Oh, hello Mr Lumsden.’

‘Evening, Cleo.’

She looked at Rebus, then Lumsden again. ‘I see your tastes have changed.’

‘Lose yourself, Cleo.’ Lumsden wound the window back up. The woman disappeared into the darkness.

Rebus turned to face Lumsden. ‘Look, I don’t know just how bent you are. I don’t know whose money will be paying for my stay at the hotel. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I’m beginning to get the feeling I know this city. I know it because it’s much the same as Edinburgh. I know you could live here for years without glimpsing what’s beneath the surface.’

Lumsden started to laugh. ‘You’ve been here – what? – a day and a half? You’re a tourist here, don’t presume to know the place. I’ve been here a hell of a lot longer, and even I couldn’t claim that.’

‘All the same, Ludo …’ Rebus said quietly.

‘Is this leading somewhere?’

‘I thought you were the one who wanted to talk.’

‘And you’re the one who’s talking.’

Rebus sighed, spoke slowly as to a child. ‘Uncle Joe controls Glasgow, including – my guess – a fair bit of the drug trade. Now his son’s up here, drinking in Burke’s Club. An Edinburgh snitch had some gen on a consignment headed north. He also had the phone number of Burke’s. He ended up dead.’ Rebus held up a finger. ‘That’s one strand. Tony El tortured an oil-worker, who consequently died. Tony El scurried back up here but neatly passed away. That’s three deaths so far, every one of them suspicious, and nobody’s doing much about it.’ A second finger. ‘Strand two. Are the two connected? I don’t know. At the moment, all that connects them is Aberdeen itself. But that’s a start. You don’t know me, Ludo, a start is all I need.’

‘Can I change the subject slightly?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Did you get anything on Shetland?’

‘Just a bad feeling. A little hobby of mine, I collect them.’

‘And tomorrow you’re going out to Bannock?’

‘You’ve been busy.’

‘A few phone calls, that’s all it took. Know something?’ Lumsden started the car. ‘I’ll be glad to see the back of you. My life was simple until you came along.’

‘Never a dull moment,’ Rebus said, opening the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ll walk. Nice night for it.’

‘Suit yourself.’

‘I always do.’

Rebus watched the car move off, turn a corner. He listened to the engine fade, flicked his cigarette on to the tarmac and started to walk. The first place he passed was the Yardarm. It was Exotic Dancer night, with a scarecrow on the door charging admission. Rebus had been there, done that. The heyday of the exotic dancer had been the late seventies, every pub in Edinburgh seemed to have them: men watching from behind pint glasses, the stripper selecting her three records from the jukebox, a collection afterwards if you wanted her to go a bit further.