‘Not down here,’ she said confidently. She was probably right. The police presence outside the stadium had been large and knowledgeable, channelling Hibs fans down Easter Road while the visitors from Glasgow were dispatched back up the hill towards the bus and railway stations. Siobhan followed Rebus as he cut through Lorne Street and came out on Leith Walk, where weary shoppers were struggling home. The pub he had in mind was an anonymous affair with bevelled windows and an oxblood carpet pocked with cigarette burns and blackened gum. Game-show applause crackled from the TV, while two old-timers carried out a swearing competition in the corner.

‘You sure know how to treat a lady,’ Siobhan complained.

‘And would the lady like a Bacardi Breezer? Maybe a Moscow Mule.’

‘Pint of lager,’ Siobhan said defiantly. Rebus ordered himself a pint of Eighty with a malt on the side. As they took their seats, Siobhan told him he seemed to know every bad pub in the city.

‘Thanks,’ he said without a trace of irony. ‘So,’ he lifted his glass, ‘what’s the news on Philippa Balfour’s computer?’

‘There’s a game she was playing. I don’t know much about it. It’s run by someone called Quizmaster. I’ve made contact with him.’

‘And?’

‘And,’ she sighed, ‘I’m waiting for him to get back to me. So far I’ve sent a dozen e-mails and no joy.’

‘Any other way we can track him down?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘What about the game?’

‘I don’t know the first thing about it,’ she admitted, attacking her drink. ‘Gill’s beginning to think it’s a dead end. She’s got me interviewing students instead.’

‘That’s because you’ve been to college.’

‘I know. If Gill’s got a flaw, it’s that she’s literal-minded.’

‘She speaks very highly of you,’ Rebus said archly, gaining him a punch on the arm.

Siobhan’s face changed as she picked up her glass again. ‘She offered me the liaison post.’

‘I thought she might. Are you going to take it?’ He watched her shake her head. ‘Because of what happened to Ellen Wylie?’

‘Not really.’

‘Then why?’

She shrugged. ‘Not ready for it, maybe.’

‘You’re ready,’ he stated.

‘It’s not real police work though, is it?’

‘What it is, Siobhan, is a step up.’

She looked down at her drink. ‘I know.’

‘Who’s doing the job meantime?’

‘I think Gill is.’ She paused. ‘We’re going to find Flip’s body, aren’t we?’

‘Maybe.’

She looked at him. ‘You think she’s still alive?’

‘No,’ he said bleakly, ‘I don’t.’

That night he hit a few more bars, sticking close to home at first, then hailing a taxi outside Swany’s and asking to be taken to Young Street. He made to light up but the driver asked him not to, and he noticed the No Smoking signs.