‘Which is a long way from Falls,’ Siobhan felt bound to point out. ‘I mean, those other coffins you’ve got, they were found near the scene, weren’t they?’

‘And the Falls coffin is different from the others,’ Ellen Wylie added.

‘I’m not saying otherwise,’ Rebus interrupted. ‘I’m just trying to establish whether I’m the only one who sees possible links?’

They all looked at each other; no one said anything until Wylie lifted her Bloody Mary and, studying its red surface, mentioned the German student. ‘Swords and sorcery, role-playing, ends up dead on a Scottish hillside.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But,’ Wylie continued, ‘hard to tie in with your disappearances and drownings.’

Devlin seemed persuaded by her tone. ‘It’s not,’ he added, ‘as if the drownings were considered suspicious at the time, and my examination of the pertinent details doesn’t persuade me otherwise.’ He had taken his hands from his pockets; they now rested on the shiny knees of his baggy grey trousers.

‘Fine,’ Rebus said, ‘then I’m the only one who’s even remotely convinced?’

This time, not even Wylie spoke up. Rebus took another long swallow of beer. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘Look, why are we here?’ Wylie laid her hands on the table. ‘You’re trying to convince us to work as a team?’

‘I’m just saying all these little details may end up being part of the same story.’

‘Burke and Hare to the Quizmaster’s Treasure Hunt?’

‘Yes.’ But Rebus looked like he was believing it less himself now. ‘Christ, I don’t know …’ He ran a hand over his head.

‘Look, thanks for the drink …’ Ellen Wylie’s glass was empty. She picked her shoulder-bag up from the bench, started getting to her feet.

‘Ellen …’

She looked at him. ‘Big day tomorrow, John. First full day of the murder inquiry.’

‘It’s not officially a murder inquiry until the pathologist pronounces,’ Devlin reminded her. She looked ready to say something, but just graced him with the coldest of smiles. Then she squeezed out between two of the chairs, said a general goodbye, and was gone.

‘Something connects them,’ Rebus said quietly, almost to himself. ‘I can’t for the life of me think what it is, but it’s there …’

‘It can be detrimental,’ Devlin pronounced, ‘to begin obsessing – as our transatlantic cousins might say – on a case. Detrimental both to the case and to oneself.’

Rebus tried for the same smile Ellen Wylie had just given. ‘I think the next round’s yours,’ he said.

Devlin checked his watch. ‘Actually, I’m afraid I’m unable to tarry.’ He seemed to find it painful rising from the table. ‘I don’t suppose one of the young ladies might proffer a lift?’

‘You’re on my way home,’ Siobhan conceded at last.