The telephone was ringing. It was always ringing either just as he was coming in, or else just as he was about to go out. He could sit in his chair for hours and never once . . .

‘Hello, Rebus here.’

There was a pause, and enough snap-crackle over the line for the call to be trans-Siberian.

‘Is that Inspector Rebus?’

Rebus sighed and fell into his chair. ‘Speaking.’

‘Hello, sir. This is a terrible line. It’s Constable Moffat. You wanted someone to go to Deer Lodge.’

Rebus perked up. ‘That’s right.’

‘Well, sir, I’ve just been over there and –’ And there was a noise like an excited geiger counter. Rebus held the receiver away from his ear. When the noise had stopped, the constable was still speaking. ‘I don’t know what more I can tell you, sir.’

‘You can tell me the whole bloody lot again for a start,’ Rebus said. ‘The line went supernova for a minute there.’

Constable Moffat began again, articulating his words as though in conversation with a retard. ‘I was saying, sir, that I went over to Deer Lodge, but there’s no one at home. No car outside. I had a look through the windows. I’d say someone had been there at some time. Looked like there’d been a bit of a party. Wine bottles and glasses and stuff. But there’s no one there at the minute.’

‘Did you ask any of the neighbours . . .?’ As he said it, Rebus knew this to be a stupid question. The constable was already laughing.

‘There aren’t any neighbours, sir. The nearest would be Mr and Mrs Kennoway, but they’re a mile hike the other side of the hills.’

‘I see. And there’s nothing else you can tell me?’

‘Not that I can think of. If there was anything in particular . . .? I mean, I know the lodge is owned by that MP, and I saw in the papers . . .’

‘No,’ Rebus was quick to say, ‘nothing to do with that.’ He didn’t want more rumours being tossed around like so many cabers at a Highland games. ‘Just wanted a word with Mrs Jack. We thought she might be up there.’

‘Aye, she’s up this way occasionally, so I hear.’

‘Well, if you hear anything else, let me know, won’t you?’

‘Goes without saying, sir.’ Which, Rebus supposed, it did. The constable sounded a bit hurt.

‘And thanks for your help,’ Rebus added, but received only a curt ‘Aye’ before the phone went dead.

‘Fuck you too, pal,’ he said to himself, before going off in search of Gregor Jack’s home telephone number.

Of course, there was an almighty chance that the phone would still be unplugged. Still, it was worth a try. The number itself would be on computer, but Rebus reckoned he’d be quicker looking for it in the filing cabinet. And sure enough, he found a sheet of paper headed ‘Parliamentary Constituencies in Edinburgh and Lothians’ on which were given the home addresses and telephone numbers of the area’s eleven MPs. He punched in the ten numbers, waited, and was rewarded with the ringing tone. Not that that meant –