A few of the names Rebus recognized, but he was happy to look puzzled and let Jack provide the information.

‘Gowk, that’s Cathy Gow. She’s Cath Kinnoul now, Kinnoul as in Rab, the actor.’ His finger drifted to the next signature. ‘Tampon is Tom Pond. He’s an architect in Edinburgh. Bilbo, that’s Bill Fisher, works in London for some magazine. He was always daft on Tolkien.’ Jack’s voice had become soft with sentiment. Rebus was thinking of the schoolfriends he’d kept up with – a grand total of none. ‘Suey is Ronnie Steele . . .’

‘Why Suey?’

Jack smiled. ‘I’m not sure I should tell you. Ronnie would kill me.’ He considered for a moment, gave a mellow shrug. ‘Well, we were on a school trip to Switzerland, and a girl went into Ronnie’s room and found him . . . doing something. She went and told everyone about it, and Ronnie was so embarrassed that he ran outside and lay down in the road. He said he was going to kill himself, only no cars came past, so eventually he got up.’

‘And suicide abbreviates to Suey?’

‘That’s right.’ Jack studied the card again. ‘Sexton, that’s Alice Blake. Sexton Blake, you see. A detective like yourself.’ Jack smiled. ‘Alice works in London, too. Something to do with PR.’

‘And what about . . .?’ Rebus was pointing to the last secret name, Mack. Jack’s face changed.

‘Oh, that’s . . . Andy Macmillan.’

‘And what does Mr Macmillan do these days?’ Mack, Rebus was thinking. As in Mack the Knife, grimly apt . . .

Jack was aloof. ‘He’s in prison, I believe. Tragic story, tragic.’

‘In prison?’ Rebus was keen to pursue the subject, but Jack had other ideas. He pointed to the names on the card.

‘Notice anything, Inspector?’

Yes, Rebus had, though he hadn’t been going to mention it. Now he did. ‘The names are all written by the same person.’

Jack gave a quick smile. ‘Bravo.’

‘Well, Mr Macmillan’s in prison, and Mr Fisher and Miss Blake could hardly have signed, could they, living in London? The story only broke yesterday . . .’

‘Ah yes, good point.’

‘So who . . .?’

‘Cathy. She used to be an expert forger, though you might not think it to look at her. She used to have all our signatures off by heart.’

‘But Mr Pond lives in Edinburgh . . . couldn’t he have signed his own?’

‘I think he’s in the States on business.’

‘And Mr Steele . . .?’ Rebus tapped the ‘Suey’ scrawl.

‘Well, Suey’s a hard man to catch, Inspector.’

‘Is that so,’ mused Rebus, ‘is that so.’

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in, Helen.’

Helen Greig put her head round the door. She was dressed in a raincoat, the belt of which she was tying. ‘I’m just off, Gregor. Ian not back yet?’

‘Not yet. Catching up on his sleep, I expect.’

Rebus was replacing the card on the mantelpiece. He was wondering, too, whether Gregor Jack was surrounded by friends or by something else entirely . . .