‘Where the hell have you been?’ Rebus asked, when Levy’s daughter had put her father on.

‘I had business elsewhere.’

‘You know your daughter’s been worried. You might have phoned her.’

‘Does this counselling service come free?’

‘My fee cancels out when you answer a few questions. You know Lintz is dead?’

‘I’ve heard.’

‘Where were you when you heard?’

‘I’ve told you, I had business ... Inspector, am I a suspect?’

‘Practically the only one we’ve got.’

Levy gave a harsh laugh. ‘This is preposterous. I’m not a ...’

He couldn’t say the word. Rebus guessed his daughter was within hearing distance. ‘Hold on a moment, please.’

The receiver was muffled: Levy ordering his daughter out of the room. He came back on, voice lower than before.

‘Inspector, for the record, I feel I must let you know how angry I felt when I heard the news. Justice may have been done or not done - I can’t argue those points just now - but what is absolutely certain is that history has been cheated here!’

‘Of the trial?’

‘Of course! And the Rat Line, too. With each suspect who dies, we’re that much less likely to prove its existence. Lintz isn’t the first, you know. One man, the brakes failed on his car. Another fell from an upstairs window. There’ve been two apparent suicides, six more cases of what look like natural causes.’

‘Am I going to get the full conspiracy theory?’

‘This isn’t a joke, Inspector.’

‘Did you hear me laughing? What about you, Mr Levy? When did you leave Edinburgh?’

‘Before Lintz died.’

‘Did you see him?’ Rebus knowing he had, but seeking a lie.

Levy paused. ‘Confronted would be a more apposite term.’

‘Just the once?’

‘Three times. He wasn’t keen to talk about himself, but I stated my case nonetheless.’

‘And the phone call?’

Levy paused. ‘What phone call?’

‘When he called you at the Roxburghe.’

‘I wish I’d recorded it for posterity. Rage, Inspector. Foulmouthed rage. I’m positive he was mad.’

‘Mad?’

‘You didn’t hear him. He’s very good at seeming perfectly normal - he must be, or he wouldn’t have gone undetected for so long. But the man is ... was ... mad. Truly mad.’

Rebus was remembering the crooked little man in the cemetery, and how he’d suddenly let fly at a passing dog. Poise, to rage, to poise again. ‘The story he told ...’

Levy sighed. ‘Was this in the restaurant?’

‘What restaurant?’

‘Sorry, I thought the two of you went out to lunch.’

‘I can assure you we didn’t.’

‘So what story is this then?’

‘These men, Inspector, they come to justify their actions by blanking them out, or by transference. Transference is the more common.’

‘They tell themselves someone else did it?’

‘Yes.’

‘And that was Lintz’s story?’

‘Less believable than most. He said it was all a case of mistaken identity.’

‘And who did he think you were mistaking him for?’

‘A colleague at the university ... a Dr Colquhoun.’