‘It was just a park. You know, trees and grass, a play park for the kids.’

‘Were the gates locked?’

‘What?’

‘It was late at night, were the gates locked?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘You don’t remember.’ Pause: two beats. ‘Where did you meet her?’

Quickly: ‘At a disco.’

‘You don’t seem the disco type, Mr Shand.’ Another snort from the machine. ‘Describe the place to me.’

Shand shrugged again. ‘Like any other disco: dark, flashing lights, a bar.’

‘What about victim number two?’

‘Same procedure.’ Shand’s eyes were dark, face gaunt. But for all that he was beginning to enjoy himself, easing into his story again. ‘Met her at a disco, offered to take her home, killed her and fucked her.’

‘No intimacy then. Did you take a souvenir?’

‘Eh?’

Rebus flicked ash on to the floor, flakes landed on his shoes. ‘Did you remove anything from the scene?’

Shand thought it over, shook his head.

‘And this was where exactly?’

‘Warriston Cemetery.’

‘Close to her home?’

‘She lived on Inverleith Row.’

‘What did you strangle her with?’

‘The bit of rope.’

‘The same piece?’ Shand nodded. ‘What did you do, keep it in your pocket?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Do you have it with you now?’

‘I chucked it.’

‘You’re not making it easy for us, are you?’ Shand squirmed with pleasure. Four beats. ‘And the third victim?’

‘Glasgow,’ Shand recited. ‘Kelvingrove Park. Her name was Judith Cairns. She told me to call her Ju-Ju. I did her same as the others.’ He sat back in the chair, drawing himself up and folding his arms. Rebus reached out a hand until it touched the man’s forehead, faith-healer style. Then he pushed, not very hard. But there was no resistance. Shand and the chair toppled backwards on to the floor. Rebus was kneeling in front of him, hauling him up by the front of his shirt.

‘You’re a liar!’ he hissed. ‘Everything you know you got straight from the papers, and what you had to make up was pure dross!’ He let go and got to his feet. His hands were damp where he’d been holding the shirt.

‘I’m not lying,’ Shand pleaded, still prone. ‘That’s gospel I’m telling you!’

Rebus stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette. The ashtray tipped more butts on to the table. Rebus picked one up and flicked it at Shand.

‘Are you not going to charge me?’

‘You’ll be charged all right: wasting police time. A spell in Saughton with an arse-bandit for a roomie.’

‘We usually just let him go,’ Maclay said.

‘Stick him in a cell,’ Rebus ordered, leaving the room.

‘But I’m him!’ Shand persisted, even as Maclay was picking him off the floor. ‘I’m Johnny Bible! I’m Johnny Bible!’

‘Not even close, Craw,’ Maclay said, quietening him with a punch.

Rebus needed to wash his hands, splash some water on his face. Two woolly suits were in the toilets, enjoying a story and a cigarette. They stopped laughing when Rebus came in.

‘Sir,’ one asked, ‘who did you have in the biscuit-tin?’