He checked his watch. ‘They won’t be open at this hour, will they?’

She shook her head. ‘First thing tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Breakfast’s on me.’

Rebus and Jean sat in the Palm Court. She was drinking a long vodka, while he nursed a ten-year-old Macallan. The waiter had brought a little glass jug of water, but Rebus hadn’t disturbed it. He hadn’t been inside the Balmoral Hotel in years. Back then it had been the North British. The old place had changed a bit in the interim. Not that Jean seemed interested in her surroundings, not now she’d heard Rebus’s story.

‘So they might all have been murdered?’ she said, her face pale. The lights in the lounge had been turned low, and a pianist was playing. Rebus kept recognising snatches of tunes; he doubted Jean had taken in any of them.

‘It’s possible,’ he admitted.

‘But you’re basing all of it on the dolls?’

Her eyes met his and he nodded. ‘Maybe I’m reading too much into it,’ he said. ‘But it needs to be investigated.’

‘Where on earth will you start?’

‘We’re waiting for the original case notes.’ He paused. ‘What’s the matter?’

There were tears in her eyes. She sniffed and searched her bag for a handkerchief. ‘It’s just the idea of it. All this time, I had those cuttings … Maybe if I’d given them to the police sooner …’

‘Jean.’ He took her hand. ‘All you had were stories about dolls in coffins.’

‘I suppose so,’ she said.

‘Meantime, maybe you can help.’

She hadn’t found a handkerchief. Picked up her cocktail napkin and dabbed at her eyes with it. ‘How?’ she said.

‘This whole thing goes back as far as nineteen seventy-two. I need to know who back then might have shown an interest in the Arthur’s Seat exhibits. Can you do some digging for me?’

‘Of course.’

He gave her hand another squeeze. ‘Thanks.’

She gave a half-hearted smile and picked up her drink. The ice rattled as she finished it.

‘Another?’ he said.

She shook her head, looked around her. ‘I get the feeling this isn’t your kind of place.’

‘Oh? And what is?’

‘I think you feel more comfortable in small, smoky bars filled with disappointed men.’

There was a smile on her face. Rebus nodded slowly.

‘You catch on quick,’ he said.

Her smile faded as she looked around again. ‘I was here just last week, such a happy occasion … It seems like a long time ago.’

‘What was the occasion?’

‘Gill’s promotion. Do you think she’s coping?’

‘Gill’s Gill. She’ll tough it out.’ He paused. ‘Speaking of toughing it out, is that reporter still giving you grief ?’