She broke the walk with breakfast at an early opener: beans on toast and a mug of tea so strong she feared for tannin poisoning. At the top of Calton Hill, she stopped to watch the city gearing up for another day. Down by Leith, a container ship was sitting off the coast. The Pentland Hills to the south wore their covering of low cloud like a welcoming duvet. There wasn’t much traffic yet on Princes Street: buses and taxis mostly. She liked Edinburgh best at this time of day, before routine set in. The Balmoral Hotel was one of the closest landmarks. She thought back to the party Gill Templer had hosted there … how Gill had talked of having a lot on her plate. Siobhan wondered if she’d meant the case itself or her new promotion. Thing about the promotion was, John Rebus came with it. He was Gill’s problem now rather than the Farmer’s. Word in the office was, John had already got into a spot of bother: found drunk inside the MisPer’s flat. In the past, people had warned Siobhan that she was growing too much like Rebus, picking up his faults as well as his strengths. She didn’t think that was true.

No, that wasn’t true …

Her walk downhill took her on to Waterloo Place. A right turn, she’d be home in five minutes. A left, and she could be at work in ten. She turned left on to North Bridge, kept walking.

St Leonard’s was quiet. The CID suite had a musty smell: too many bodies each day spending too long cooped up there. She opened a couple of windows, made herself a mug of weak coffee, and sat down at her desk. When she checked, there were no messages on Flip’s computer. She decided to keep the line open while she composed her new e-mail. But after only a couple of lines, a message told her she had post. It was from Quizmaster, a simple Good morning. She hit reply and asked, How did you know I was here? The response was immediate.

That’s something Flipside wouldn’t have to ask. Who are you?

Siobhan typed so quickly, she didn’t correct her errors. I’m a police officer, baesd in Edinburgh. We’re investgating Philippa Balfour’s disappearance. She waited a full minute for his reply.

Who?

Flipside, she typed.

She never told me her real name. That’s one of the rules.

The rules of the game? Siobhan typed.

Yes. Did she live in Edinburgh?

She was a student here. Can we talk? You’ve got my mobile number.

Again, the wait seemed interminable.

I prefer this.

Okay, Siobhan typed, can you tell me about Hellbank?

You’d have to play the game. Give me a name to call you.

My name’s Siobhan Clarke. I’m a detective constable with Lothian and Borders Police.