Rebus shrugged again. ‘Early days. That was interesting, what you were saying about Mrs Jack . . .’

But Kemp’s eyes were cool. ‘I get the story first?’

Rebus massaged his neck. ‘As far as I’m concerned.’

Kemp seemed to size the offer up. As Rebus himself knew, there was almost no offer there for the sizing. Then Kemp placed his glass on the table. He was ready to say a little more.

‘What Jack didn’t know about Liz Ferrie was that she ran with a very fast crowd. A rich fast crowd. People like her. It took Gregor quite a while before he was able to insinuate his way into the group. A working-class kid, remember. Still gangly and a bit awkward. But it happened, he had Liz hooked. Where he went, she would et cetera. And Jack had his own gang. Still does.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Old schoolfriends mostly, a few people he met at university. His circle, you could call it.’

‘One of them runs a bookshop, doesn’t he?’

Kemp nodded. ‘That’s Ronald Steele. Known to the gang as Suey. That’s why his shop’s called Suey Books.’

‘Funny nickname,’ said Patience.

‘I don’t know how he came by it,’ admitted Kemp. ‘I’d like to know, but I don’t.’

‘Who else is there?’ asked Rebus.

‘I’m not sure how many there are altogether. The interesting ones are Rab Kinnoul and Andrew Macmillan.’

‘Rab Kinnoul the actor?’

‘The very same.’

‘That’s funny, I’ve got to talk to him. Or rather, to his wife.’

‘Oh?’

Kemp was sniffing his story, but Rebus shook his head. ‘Nothing to do with Jack. Some stolen books. Mrs Kinnoul is a bit of a collector.’

‘Not Prof Costello’s missing hoard?’

‘That’s it.’

Kemp was nothing if not a newsman. ‘Any progress?’

Rebus shrugged.

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Kemp, ‘it’s early days yet.’

And he laughed, and Patience laughed with him. But something had just struck Rebus.

‘Not the Andrew Macmillan, surely?’

Kemp nodded. ‘They were at school together.’

‘Christ.’ Rebus stared at the plastic-topped table. Kemp was explaining to Patience who Andrew Macmillan was.

‘A very successful something-or-other. Went off his head one day. Toddled off home and sawed off his wife’s head.’

Patience gasped. ‘I remember that,’ she said. ‘They never found the head, did they?’

Kemp shook his own firmly fixed head. ‘He’d have done his daughter in, too, but the kid ran for her life. She’s a bit dotty now herself, and no wonder.’

‘Whatever happened to him?’ Rebus wondered aloud. It had been several years ago, and in Glasgow not Edinburgh. Not his territory.

‘Oh,’ said Kemp, ‘he’s in that new psychiatric place, the one they’ve just built.’

‘You mean Duthil?’ said Patience.

‘That’s it. Up in the Highlands. Near Grantown, isn’t it?’

Well, thought Rebus, curiouser and curiouser. His geography wasn’t brilliant, but he didn’t think Grantown was too far from Deer Lodge. ‘Is Jack still in touch with him?’

It was Kemp’s turn to shrug. ‘No idea.’

‘And they were at school together?’