Rebus nodded. ‘How much will you be taking with you?’

‘About thirty-eight thou.’

‘A decent skim.’

‘Decent profits all round.’

‘How soon till Uncle Joe finds out about Stanley?’

‘Well, Malcolm won’t be in a hurry to tell him, and Joe’s used to him disappearing for a day or two on the trot… With any luck, I won’t even be in the country when the bomb goes off.’

‘You look the lucky type to me.’

They left the lift at the third floor and checked the numbers on their keys. Rebus ended up next door to Eve: Stanley’s old room. Jack was two doors further down.

Stanley’s old room was a good size and boasted what Rebus guessed were the usual corporate embellishments: mini-bar, trouser press, a little saucer of chocolates on the pillow, a bathrobe laid out on the turned-down bed. There was a notice clipped to the robe. It asked him not to take it home with him. If he wanted to, he could purchase one from the health club. ‘Thank you for being a considerate guest.’

The considerate guest made himself a cup of Café Hag. There was a price list on top of the mini-bar, detailing the delights within. He stuck it in a drawer. The wardrobe boasted a mini-safe, so he took the mini-bar key and locked it inside. Another barrier for him to get past, another chance to change his mind if he really wanted that drink.

Meantime, the coffee tasted fine. He had a shower, wrapped himself in the bathrobe, then sat on his bed and stared at the connecting door. Of course, there would have to be a connecting door: couldn’t have Stanley hopping around the corridor at all hours. There was a simple lock his side, as there would be on the other. He wondered what he would find if he unlocked the door: would Eve’s be standing open? If he knocked, would she let him in? What about if she knocked? He turned his eyes from the door, and they settled on the mini-bar. He felt peckish – there would be nuts and crisps inside. Maybe he could …? No, no, no. He turned his attention back to the connecting door, listened hard, couldn’t hear any movement from Eve’s room. Maybe she was already asleep – early start and all that. He found he wasn’t feeling tired any more. Now he was here, he wanted to get to work. He pulled open his curtains. It had started to rain, the tarmac glistening and black like the back of a huge fat beetle. Rebus pulled a chair over to the window. Wind was driving the rain, making shifting patterns in the sodium light. As he stared, the rain began to resemble smoke, billowing out of the darkness. The car park below was half full, the cars huddled like cattle while their owners stayed snug and dry.

Johnny Bible was out there, probably in Aberdeen, probably connected to the oil industry. He thought about the people he’d met these past days, everyone from Major Weir to Walt the tour guide. It was ironic that the person whose case had brought him here – Allan Mitchison – was not only connected to oil but was also the only candidate he could rule out, being long dead by the time Vanessa Holden met her killer. Rebus felt guilty about Mitchison. His case was becoming swamped by the serial killings. It was a job, something Rebus had to do. But it wasn’t wedged in his throat the way the Johnny Bible case was, something he had either to cough up or choke on.