‘Inspector Rebus?’

He paused by the door. ‘What?’

Kemp pointed to the sofa. ‘Don’t forget to take your books with you.’

Rebus stared at them as though seeing them for the first time. ‘Right,’ he said, heading back towards the sofa. ‘By the way,’ he said, picking up the bundle, ‘I know why Steele’s called Suey.’ Then he winked. ‘Remind me to tell you about it some time, when this is all over . . .’

He returned to the station, intending to share some of what he knew with his superiors. But Brian Holmes stopped him outside the Chief Superintendent’s door.

‘I wouldn’t do that.’

Rebus, his fist raised high, ready to knock, paused. ‘Why not?’ he asked, every bit as quietly as Holmes himself had spoken.

‘Mrs Jack’s father’s in there.’

Sir Hugh Ferrie! Rebus lowered his hand carefully, then began backing away from the door. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into a discussion with Ferrie. Why haven’t you found . . . what are you doing about . . . when will you . . .? No, life was too short, and the hours too long.

‘Thanks, Brian. I owe you one. Who else is in there?’

‘Just the Farmer and the Fart.’

‘Best leave them to it, eh?’ They moved a safe distance from the door. ‘That list of cars you made up was pretty comprehensive. Well done.’

‘Thanks. Lauderdale never told me exactly what it was –’

‘Anything else happening?’

‘What? No, quiet as the grave. Oh, Nell thinks she might be pregnant.’

‘What?’

Holmes gave a bemused smile. ‘We’re not sure yet . . .’

‘Were you . . . you know, expecting it?’

The smiled stayed. ‘Expect the unexpected, as they say.’

Rebus whistled. ‘How does she feel about it?’

‘I think she’s holding back on the feelings till we know one way or the other.’

‘What about you?’

‘Me? If it’s a boy he’ll be called Stuart and grow up to be a doctor and a Scottish international.’

Rebus laughed. ‘And if it’s a girl?’

‘Katherine, actress.’

‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.’

‘Thanks. Oh, and another bit of news – Pond’s back.’

‘Tom Pond?’

‘The very one. Back from across the pond. We reached him this morning. I thought I’d go have a talk with him, unless you want to?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘He’s all yours, Brian, for what he’s worth. Right now, he’s about the only bugger I think is in the clear. Him and Macmillan and Mr Glass.’

‘Have you seen the interview transcript?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I know you and Chief Inspector Lauderdale don’t always get on, but I’ll say this for him, he’s sharp.’

‘A Glass-cutter, you might say?’

Holmes sighed. ‘I might, but you always seem to beat me to the pun.’

*

Edinburgh was surrounded by golf courses catering to every taste and presenting every possible degree of difficulty. There were links courses, where the wind was as likely to blow your ball backwards as forwards. And there were hilly courses, all slope and gully, with greens and flags positioned on this or that handkerchief-sized plateau. The Braidwater course belonged to the latter category. Players made the majority of their shots trusting either to instinct or fortune, since the flag would often be hidden from view behind a rise or the brow of a hill. A cruel course designer would have tucked sand traps just the other side of these obstacles, and indeed a cruel course designer had.