‘“Eliza Ferrie,”’ he read. ‘“Patient visited: Andrew Macmillan. Relation to patient: friend.” Signed in at three o’clock and out again at four thirty.’

‘Our regular visiting hours,’ Forster explained. ‘Patients can have visitors in the main recreation room. But I’ve arranged for you to see Andrew in his ward.’

‘His ward?’

‘Just a large room, really. Four beds to a room. But we call them wards to enforce . . . perhaps enhance would be a better word . . . to enhance the hospital atmosphere. Andrew’s in the Kinnoul Ward.’

Rebus started. ‘Why Kinnoul?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Why call the ward Kinnoul?’

Forster smiled. ‘After the actor. You must have heard of Rab Kinnoul? He and his wife are among the hospital’s patrons.’

Rebus decided not to say anything about Cath Kinnoul being one of The Pack, about her having known Macmillan at school . . . It was no business of his. But the Kinnouls went up in his estimation; well, Cath did. She had not, it seemed, forgotten her one-time friend. Nobody calls me Gowk any more. And Liz Jack, too, had visited, albeit under her maiden name and with a twist to her Christian name to boot. He could understand that: the papers would have had a field day. MP’s Wife’s Visits to Crazed Killer. All those possessives. She couldn’t have known that the papers were about to have their story anyway . . .

‘Perhaps at the end of your visit,’ Dr Forster said, ‘you’d like to see some of our facilities? Pool, gym, workshops . . .’

‘Workshops?’

‘Simple mechanics. Car maintenance, that sort of thing.’

‘You mean you give the patients spanners and screwdrivers?’

Forster laughed. ‘And we count them in again at the end of the session.’

Rebus had thought of something. ‘Did you say car maintenance? I don’t suppose somebody could take a look at my windscreen wipers?’

Forster started to laugh again, but Rebus shook his head.

‘I’m serious,’ he said.

‘Then I’ll see what we can do.’ Forster rose to his feet. ‘Ready when you are, Inspector.’

‘I’m ready,’ said Rebus, not at all sure that he was.

There was much passing through corridors, and the nurse who was to show Rebus to Kinnoul Ward had to unlock and relock countless doors. A heavy chain of keys swung from his waistband. Rebus attempted conversation, but the nurse replied with short measures. There was just the one incident. They were passing along a corridor when from an open doorway a hand appeared, grabbing at Rebus. A small, elderly man was trying to say something, eyes shining, mouth making tiny movements.

‘Back into your room, Homer,’ said the nurse, prising the fingers from Rebus’s jacket. The man scuttled back inside. Rebus waited a moment for his heart rate to ease, then asked: ‘Why do you call him Homer?’

The nurse looked at him. ‘Because that’s his name.’ They walked on in silence.

Forster had been right. There were few moans or groans or sudden curdling shrieks, and few enough signs of movement, never mind violent movement. They passed through a large room where people were watching TV. Forster had explained that actual television wasn’t allowed, since it couldn’t be pre-determined. Instead, there was a daily diet of specially chosen video titles. The Sound of Music seemed to be a particular favourite. The patients watched in mute fascination.