The number for Edinburgh University connected Rebus to the main switchboard. He asked to be put through to Lintz’s old department. The secretary was very helpful. She’d been in the job over twenty years, was due to retire. Yes, she remembered Professor Lintz, but he hadn’t contacted the department recently.

‘Every call that comes through here, I know about it.’

‘He might have got straight through to a tutor though?’

Rebus suggested.

‘No one’s mentioned speaking to him. There’s nobody here from the Professor’s day.’

‘He doesn’t keep in touch with the department?’

‘I haven’t spoken to him in years, Inspector. Too many years for me to remember ...’

So who had he been talking to for over twenty minutes? Rebus thanked the secretary and put down the phone. He went through the other numbers: a couple of restaurants, a wine shop, and the local radio station. Rebus told the receptionist what he was after, and she said she’d do her best. Then he went back to the restaurants, asked them to check if Lintz had been making a reservation.

Within half an hour, the calls started coming in. First restaurant: a booking for dinner, just the one cover. The radio station: they’d asked Lintz to appear on a programme. He’d said he’d consider it, then had called back to decline. Second restaurant: a lunch reservation, two covers.

‘Two?’

‘Mr Lintz and one other.’

‘Any idea who the “other” might have been?’

‘Another gentleman, quite elderly, I think ... I’m sorry, I don’t really remember.’

‘Did he walk with a stick?’

‘I wish I could help, but it’s a madhouse here at lunchtime.’

‘You remember Lintz though?’

‘Mr Lintz is a regular ... was a regular.’

‘Did he usually eat alone, or with company?’

‘Mostly alone. He didn’t seem to mind. He’d bring a book with him.’

‘Do you happen to recall any of his other guests?’

‘I remember a young woman ... his daughter maybe? Or granddaughter?’

‘So when you say “young” ...?’

‘Younger than him.’

A pause. ‘Maybe much younger.’

‘When was this?’

‘I really don’t remember.’

The voice impatient now.

‘I appreciate your help, sir. Just one more minute of your time ... This woman, did he bring her more than once?’

‘I’m sorry, Inspector. The kitchen needs me.’

‘Well, if you think of anything else ...’

‘Of course. Goodbye.’

Rebus put the phone down, made some notes. Just one number left. He waited for an answer.

‘Yeah?’

The voice grudging.

‘Who’s this?’

‘This is Malky. Who the fuck are you?’

A voice in the background: ‘Tommy says that new machine’s fucked.’

Rebus put the phone down. His hand was shaking. That new machine ... Tommy Telford on his arcade motorbike. He remembered The Family mugshots: Malky Jordan. Tiny nose and eyes in a balloon of a face. Joseph Lintz talking to one of Telford’s men? Phoning Telford’s offce?? Rebus found the number of Hogan’s mobile.

‘Bobby,’ he said. ‘If you’re driving, better slow down right now . . .’