Rebus nodded. He was thinking: I had an uncle who looked very much like you; I can’t even remember his name.

‘Well, if that’s everything …’ Toal made a show of starting to rise.

‘Do you remember Bible John, Uncle Joe?’

Toal frowned, understanding the question but not its intent. He reached down to the floor for an ashtray, stubbed his cigarette into it. ‘I remember fine. Hundreds of coppers on the street, it was bad for business. We cooperated a hundred per cent, I had men out hunting the bugger for months. Months! And now this new bastard turns up.’

‘Johnny Bible?’

Pointing to himself: ‘I’m a businessman. The slaughter of innocents sickens me. I’ve had all my taxi drivers – ’ he paused – ‘I have interests in a local taxi firm – and I’ve instructed every single driver: keep your eyes peeled and your ears open.’ He was breathing heavily. ‘If anything comes to me, it’ll go straight to the cops.’

‘Very public spirited.’

Toal shrugged. ‘The public is my business.’ Another pause, a frown. ‘What’s all this to do with Tony El?’

‘Nothing.’ Toal looked unconvinced. ‘Call it tangential. Is it OK to smoke?’

‘You’re not staying long enough to enjoy it.’

Rebus lit up anyway, staying put. ‘Where did Tony El go?’

‘He didn’t send a postcard.’

‘You must have some idea.’

Toal thought about it, when he shouldn’t have needed to. ‘Somewhere south, I think. Maybe London. He had friends down there.’

‘London?’

Toal wouldn’t look at Rebus. He shook his head. ‘I heard he headed south.’

Rebus stood up.

‘Is it that time already?’ Toal showed effort getting to his feet, steadying himself with the walking-stick. ‘And here we were just getting to know one another. How’s Edinburgh these days? Know what we used to say about it? Fur coat and nae knickers, that’s Edinburgh.’ A hacking laugh turned into a hacking cough. Toal gripped the walking-stick with both hands, knees almost buckling.

Rebus waited until he’d finished. The old man’s face was puce, sweat breaking out. ‘That may be true,’ he said, ‘but I don’t see too many fur coats around here, never mind the knickers.’

Toal’s face broke into a grin, showing yellow dentures. ‘Cafferty said I’d like you, and you know what?’

‘What?’

The grin turned to a scowl. ‘He was wrong. And now I’ve seen you, I’m wondering more than ever why he sent you here. Not just for the price of a half-bottle, not even Cafferty’s that cheap. You better get yourself back to Edinburgh, laddie. And take care of yourself, I hear it’s not as safe as it used to be.’

Rebus walked to the far end of the living room, deciding to leave by the other front door. There was a staircase next to it, and someone came bounding down, nearly colliding with him. A big man in bad clothes, a face that said he wasn’t too bright, arms tattooed with thistles and pipers. He’d be about twenty-five, and Rebus recognised him from the photos in the file: Mad Malky Toal, a.k.a. ‘Stanley’. Joseph Toal’s wife had died in childbirth, too old really to be having kids. But their first two had died, one in infancy, one in a car smash. So now there was only Stanley, heir apparent, and towards the back of the queue when the IQs were being divvied.