‘What was the fight about?’

Kinnoul shook his head. ‘It seems stupid now. They always start with something petty, and it just builds and builds . . .’

‘And this time?’

Kinnoul turned from the window. ‘The amount of time I’m spending away from home. She didn’t believe there were any “projects”. She thinks it’s all just an excuse so I can get out of the house.’

‘And is she right?’

‘Partly, yes, I suppose. She’s a shrewd one . . . a bit slow sometimes, but she gets there.’

And what about evenings.’

‘What about them?’

‘You don’t always spend them at home either, do you? Sometimes you have a night out with friends.’

‘Do I?’

‘Say, with Barney Byars . . . with Ronald Steele.’

Kinnoul stared at Rebus, appearing not to understand, then he snapped his fingers. ‘Christ, you mean that night. Jesus, the night . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Who told you? Never mind, it must have been one or the other. What about it?’

‘I just thought you made an unlikely trio.’

Kinnoul smiled. ‘You’re right there. I don’t know Byars all that well, hardly at all really. But that day he’d been in Edinburgh and he’d sewn up a deal . . . a big deal. We bumped into each other at the Eyrie. I was in the bar having a drink, drowning my sorrows, and he was on his way up to the restaurant. Somehow I got roped in. Him and the firm he’d done the deal with. After a while . . . well, it was good fun.’

‘What about Steele?’

‘Well . . . Barney was planning on taking these guys to a brothel he knew about, but they weren’t interested. They went their way, and Barney and me nipped into the Straw-man for another drink. That’s where we picked up Ronnie. He was a bit pissed, too. Something to do with the lady in his life . . .’ Kinnoul was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Anyway, he’s usually a bit of a boring fart, but that night he seemed all right.’

Rebus was wondering: Did Kinnoul know about Steele and Cathy? It didn’t look like it, but then the man was an actor, a pro.

‘And,’ Kinnoul was saying, ‘we all ended up going on to the ill-famed house.’

‘Did you have a good time?’

Kinnoul seemed to think this an unusual question. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘I can’t really remember too clearly.’

Oh, thought Rebus, you can remember clearly enough. You can remember, all right. But now Kinnoul was looking through the hallway at Cathy’s still figure.

‘You must think I’m a bit of a shite,’ he said in a level tone. ‘You’re probably right. But, Christ . . .’ The actor had run out of words. He looked around the room, looked out of the window at what, weather willing, would have been the view, then looked towards the door again. He exhaled noisily, then shook his head.