‘Did you tell the others what the prostitute told you?’

Now Kinnoul looked startled.

‘I mean,’ said Rebus, ‘did you tell them what she said about Gregor Jack?’

‘How the hell do you know about that?’ Kinnoul fell onto one of the chairs.

‘An inspired guess. Did you?’

‘I suppose so.’ He thought about it. ‘Yes, definitely. Well, it was such a strange thing for her to say.’

‘A strange thing for you to say, too, Mr Kinnoul.’

Kinnoul shrugged his huge shoulders. ‘Just a laugh, Inspector. I was a bit pissed. I thought it would be funny to pretend to be Gregor. To be honest, I was a bit hurt that she didn’t recognize Rab Kinnoul. Look at the photos on the wall. I’ve met all of them.’ He was up on his feet again now, studying the pictures of himself, like he was in an art gallery and not seeing them for the thousandth, the ten thousandth time.

‘Bob Wagner . . . Larry Hagman . . . I knew them all once.’ The litany continued. ‘Martin Scorsese . . . the top director, absolutely the top . . . John Hurt . . . Robbie Coltrane and Eric Idle . . .’

Holmes was motioning for Rebus to come into the hall. Cathy Kinnoul was coming round. Rab Kinnoul stood in front of his photographs, his mementoes, the list of names sloshing around in his mouth.

‘Take it easy,’ Holmes was telling Cathy Kinnoul. ‘How do you feel?’

Her speech was slurred to incoherence.

‘How many have you taken, Cathy?’ Rebus asked. ‘Tell us how many?’

She was trying to focus. ‘I’ve checked all the rooms,’ Holmes said. ‘No sign of any empty bottles.’

‘Well, she’s taken something.’

‘Maybe the doctor will know.’

‘Yes, maybe.’ Rebus leaned down close to Cathy Kinnoul, his mouth two inches from her ear. ‘Gowk,’ he said quietly, ‘tell me about Suey.’

The names registered with her, but the question seemed not to.

‘You and Suey,’ Rebus went on. ‘Have you been seeing Suey? Just the two of you, eh? Like the old days? Have you and Suey been seeing one another?’

She opened her mouth, paused, then closed it again, and slowly began to shake her head. She mumbled something.

‘What was that, Gowk?’

Clearly this time: ‘Rab mussn know.’

‘He won’t know, Gowk. Trust me, he won’t know.’

She was sitting up now, holding her head in one hand while the other hand rested on the floor.

‘So,’ Rebus persisted, ‘you and Suey have been seeing one another, eh? Gowk and Suey?’

She smiled drunkenly. ‘Gow’ an’ Suey,’ she said, enjoying the words. ‘Gow’ an’ Suey.’

‘Remember, Gowk, remember the day before you found the body? Remember that Wednesday, that Wednesday afternoon? Did Suey come and see you? Did he, Gowk? Did Suey pay a visit that Wednesday?’

‘Wensay? Wensay?’ She was shaking her head. ‘Poor Lizzie . . . poor, poor . . .’ Now she held her hand palm upwards. ‘Gi’ me th’ knife,’ she said. ‘Rab’ll never know. Gi’ me th’ knife.’