Not that he’d voiced any of this to his public bar inquisitor.

‘Define romance,’ had been the challenge. And Rebus’s response? He’d picked up a fresh pint of beer and kissed the glass.

He slept till nine, showered and made some coffee. Then he phoned the hotel, and Siobhan assured him all was well.

‘She was a bit startled when she woke up and saw me instead of you. Kept saying your name. I told her she’d see you again.’

‘So what’s the plan?’

‘Shopping - one quick swoop on The Gyle. After that, Fettes. Dr Colquhoun’s coming in at noon for an hour. We’ll see what we get.’

Rebus was at his window, looking down on a damp Arden Street. ‘Take care of her, Siobhan.’

‘No problem.’

Rebus knew there’d be no problem, not with Siobhan. This was her first real action with the Crime Squad, she’d be doing her damnedest to make it a success. He was in the kitchen when the phone rang.

‘Is that Inspector Rebus?’

‘Who’s speaking?’

A voice he didn’t recognise.

‘Inspector, my name is David Levy. We’ve never met. I apologise for calling you at home. I was given this number by Matthew Vanderhyde.’

Old man Vanderhyde: Rebus hadn’t seen him in a while.

‘Yes?’

‘I must say, I was astonished when it transpired he knew you.’

The voice was tinged with a dry humour. ‘But by now nothing about Matthew should surprise me. I went to him because he knows Edinburgh.’

‘Yes?’

Laughter on the line. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I can’t blame you for being suspicious when I’ve made such a mess of the introductions. I am a historian by profession. I’ve been contacted by Solomon Mayerlink to see if I might offer assistance.’

Mayerlink ... Rebus knew the name. Placed it: Mayerlink ran the Holocaust Investigation Bureau.

‘And exactly what “assistance” does Mr Mayerlink think I need?’

‘Perhaps we could discuss it in person, Inspector. I’m staying in a hotel on Charlotte Square.’

‘The Roxburghe?’

‘Could we meet there? This morning, ideally.’

Rebus looked at his watch. ‘An hour?’

he suggested.

‘Perfect. Goodbye, Inspector.’

Rebus called into the office, told them where he’d be.

5

They sat in the Roxburghe’s lounge, Levy pouring coffee. An elderly couple in the far corner, beside the window, pored over sections of newspaper. David Levy was elderly, too. He wore black-rimmed glasses and had a small silver beard. His hair was a silver halo around a scalp the colour of tanned leather. His eyes seemed constantly moist, as if he’d just chewed on an onion. He sported a dun-coloured safari suit with blue shirt and tie beneath. His walking-stick rested against his chair. Now retired, he’d worked in Oxford, New York State, Tel Aviv itself, and several other locations around the globe.

‘I never came into contact with Joseph Lintz, however. No reason why I should, our interests being different.’

‘So why does Mr Mayerlink think you can help me?’

Levy put the coffee pot back on its tray. ‘Milk? Sugar?’