He parked the car outside another house, called his office to check for messages. In his line of work, they expected him to be out of the office for long periods of the day, if not for days and weeks at a time. It was the perfect career, really. No messages, nothing for him to think about but the Upstart … and himself.

In the early days, he had lacked patience. This was no longer the case. This slow stalking of the Upstart would only make the final confrontation sweeter. But this thought was tempered with another: that the police could be closing in, too. After all, the information was there for them to find: it was just a matter of making the connections. So far only the Edinburgh prostitute failed to fit the pattern, but if he could connect three out of four, he’d be satisfied. He could bet, too, that once he knew the Upstart’s identity he could place him in Edinburgh at the time she was killed: hotel records maybe; or a receipt for petrol from an Edinburgh filling station … Four victims. One more already than the Bible John of the sixties. It was galling, he had to say it. It rankled.

And someone would pay for it. Very soon.

North of Hell

‘Scotland will be reborn the day the last minister is strangled with the last copy of the Sunday Post.’

Tom Nairn

28

It was after midnight when they reached the hotel. It was situated near the airport, one of the shiny new constructions Rebus had passed on his way to T-Bird Oil. There was too much glare in the lobby, too many mirrors reflecting full-length portraits of three weary figures with meagre luggage. Maybe they would have provoked suspicion, but Eve was a regular and had a business account, so that was that.

‘It all goes through the taxi firm,’ she explained, ‘so this is my treat. Just sign out of the rooms when you’re finished, they’ll send the bill to Joe’s Cabs.’

‘Your usual rooms, Ms Cudden,’ the clerk said, handing over the keys, ‘plus one a few doors further along.’

Jack had been looking through the hotel directory. ‘Sauna, health club, weight gym. We should fit right in, John.’

‘It’s all oil execs,’ Eve said, leading them to the lifts. ‘They like that kind of thing. Keeps them fit enough to handle the hokey-cokey. And I don’t mean the dance.’

‘Do you sell everything direct to Fuller and Stemmons?’ Rebus asked.

Eve stifled a yawn. ‘You mean, do I deal myself?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would I be that stupid?’

‘What about the punters – any names?’

She shook her head, smiled tiredly. ‘You never stop, do you?’

‘It takes my mind off things.’ Specifically: Bible John, Johnny Bible … out there somewhere, and maybe not so very far away …

She handed their room keys to Rebus and Jack. ‘Sleep well, boys. I’ll probably be long gone when you wake up … and I won’t be coming back.’