‘Fuck off.’

‘Language, son,’ Rebus reprimanded. ‘Don’t forget, you’re a journalist. You’re the protector of our language. Don’t go cheapening it. You just cheapen yourself.’

‘I thought you wanted me to do you a favour?’

‘What? You mean the story about Jack and his sister?’ Rebus shrugged. ‘I thought I was doing you a favour. I know keen young reporters who’d give their eye teeth for –’

‘What do you want?’

Now Rebus sat forward. ‘Where did you get them, Chris?’

‘The books?’ Kemp ran his hands down his sleek hair. ‘They’re my girlfriend’s. As far as I know, she borrowed them from her university library . . .’

Rebus nodded. ‘It’s a fair story. I doubt it would get you off the hook, but it’s a fair story. For a start, it won’t explain why you hid them when you knew I was on my way up to see you.’

‘Hid them? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Rebus chuckled. ‘Fine, Chris, fine. There I was, thinking I could do you a favour. Another favour, I should say. . .’

‘What favour?’

Rebus slapped the books again ‘Seeing these get back to their rightful owner without anyone needing to know where they’ve been in the interim.’

Kemp considered this. ‘In exchange for what?’

‘Whatever it is you’re keeping from me. I know you know something, or you think you do. I just want to help you do your duty.’

‘My duty?’

‘Helping the police. It is your duty, Chris.’

‘Like it’s your duty to go creeping around people’s flats without their permission.’

Rebus didn’t bother replying. He didn’t need to reply; he just needed to bide his time. Now that he had the books, he had the reporter in his pocket, too. Safe and snug for future use . . .

Kemp sighed. ‘The water’s getting cold. Mind if I get out?’

‘Any time you like. I’ll go wait next door.’

Kemp came into the living room wearing a blue towelling robe and using a matching towel to rub at his hair.

‘Tell me about your girlfriend,’ Rebus said. Kemp filled the kettle again. He had used the minute’s solitary time to do a little thinking, and he was ready now to talk.

‘Vanessa?’ he said. ‘She’s a student.’

‘A divinity student? With access to Professor Costello’s room?’

‘Everybody’s got access to Prof Costello’s room. He told you that himself.’

‘But not everyone knows a rare book when they see it . . .’

‘Vanessa also works part time in Suey Books.’

‘Ah.’ Rebus nodded. Pencilling in her prices. Earrings and a bicycle . . .

‘Old Costello’s a customer, so Vanessa knows him fairly well,’ Kemp added.

‘Well enough to steal from him, at any rate.’

Chris Kemp sighed. ‘Don’t ask me why she did it. Was she planning to sell them? I don’t know. Did she want to keep them for herself? I don’t know. I’ve asked her, believe me. Maybe she just had a . . . a brainstorm.’