A Saab 900, its identity known to half the Lothian and Borders force.

The interior reeked of whisky, the screw-top from a bottle lying on the passenger seat. No sign of the bottle, no sign of the driver. Just the car, and two hundred yards further back, the body of the Japanese businessman, growing cold by the roadside.

Nobody had seen anything. Nobody had heard anything. Rebus could believe it: never one of the city centre’s busier routes, at this hour the place was dead.

‘When I followed him from his hotel, he didn’t come this way,’ Rebus told Templer. She stood with shoulders hunched, hands deep in her coat pockets, keeping out the cold.

‘So?’ she asked.

‘Long way round for a short-cut.’

‘Maybe he wanted to see the sights,’ Pryde suggested.

‘What time’s this supposed to have happened?’ Rebus asked.

Templer hesitated. ‘There’s a margin of error.’

‘Look, Gill, I know this is awkward. You shouldn’t have brought me here, you shouldn’t answer my questions. I’m the number one suspect, after all.’

Rebus knew how much she had to lose. Over two hundred male Chief Inspectors in Scotland; only five women. Bad odds, and a lot of people waiting for her to fail. He held up his hands. ‘Look, if I was blind drunk and I hit somebody, think I’d leave the car at the scene?’

‘You might not know you’d hit anyone. You hear a thunk, lose control and mount the kerb, and some survival instinct tells you it’s time to get out and walk.’

‘Only I hadn’t been drinking. I left the car near Flint Street, and that’s where they took it from. Any signs it was broken into?’

She didn’t say anything.

‘I’ll guess not,’ Rebus went on. ‘Because professionals don’t leave marks. But to get it started, they must have wired it or got into the steering column. That’s what you should be looking for.’

The car had been towed. First thing in the morning, forensics would be all over it.

Rebus laughed, shaking his head. ‘It’s nice though, isn’t it? First they make Sammy look like a hit and run, and now they try to pin me for the same thing.’

‘Who’s “they”?’

‘Telford and his men.’

‘I thought you said they were doing business with Matsumoto?’

‘They’re all gangsters, Gill. Gangsters fall out.’

‘What about Cafferty?’

Rebus frowned. ‘What about him?’

‘He’s got an old grudge against you. This way, he stitches you up and annoys Telford.’

‘So you do think I’m being stitched up?’

‘I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.’

She paused. ‘Not everyone will. What was Matsumoto’s business with Telford?’

‘Something to do with a country club - on the surface at least. Some Japanese were buying it, and Telford was clearing the way:’ He shivered: should have worn a coat over his jacket. He rubbed his arm where the blood sample had been taken to test his alcohol level. ‘Of course, a check of the deceased’s hotel room might throw up something.’