‘Might explain where he got the cash from.’

Gavin Tay was an ex-con. He’d been in the ice-cream business a little over a year. Successful, too: new Mere parked outside his house. His financial records hadn’t hinted at money to spare. His widow couldn’t account for the Mere. And now: evidence of a job on the side, selling food and drink to punters stumbling out of nightclubs.

Tommy Telford’s nightclubs.

Gavin Tay: previous convictions for assault and reset. A persistent offender who’d finally gone straight ... The room began to feel stuffy, Rebus’s head clotted and aching. He decided to get out.

Walked through The Meadows and down George IV Bridge, took the Playfair Steps down to Princes Street. A group was sitting on the stone steps of the Scottish Academy: unshaven, dyed hair, torn clothes. The city’s dispossessed, trying their best not to be ignored. Rebus knew he had things in common with them. In the course of his life, he’d failed to fit several niches: husband, father, lover. He hadn’t fit in with the Army’s ideas of what he should be, and wasn’t exactly ‘one of the lads’ in the police. When one of the group held out a hand, Rebus offered a fiver, before crossing Princes Street and heading for the Oxford Bar.

He settled into a corner with a mug of coffee, got out his mobile, and called Sammy’s flat. She was home, all was well with Candice. Rebus told her he had a place for Candice, she could move out tomorrow.

‘That’s fine,’ Sammy said. ‘Hold on a second.’

There was a rustling sound as the receiver was passed along.

‘Hello, John, how are you?’

Rebus smiled. ‘Hello, Candice. That’s very good.’

‘Thank you. Sammy is ... uh ... I am teaching how to ...’

She broke into laughter, handed the receiver back.

‘I’m teaching her English,’ Sammy said.

‘I can tell.’

‘We started with some Oasis lyrics, just went from there.’

‘I’ll try to come round later. What did Ned say?’

‘He was so shattered when he came home, I think he barely noticed.’

‘Is he there? I’d like to talk to him.’

‘He’s out working.’

‘What did you say he was doing again?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Right. Thanks again, Sammy. See you later.’

He took a swig of coffee, washed it around his mouth. Abernethy: he couldn’t just let it go. He swallowed the coffee and called the Roxburghe, asked for David Levy’s room.

‘Levy speaking.’

‘It’s John Rebus.’

‘Inspector, how good to hear from you. Is there something I can do?’

‘I’d like to talk to you.’

‘Are you in your office?’

Rebus looked around. ‘In a manner of speaking. It’s a two-minute walk from your hotel. Turn right out of the door, cross George Street, and walk down to Young Street. Far end, the Oxford Bar. I’m in the back room.’

When Levy arrived, Rebus bought him a half of eighty-bob. Levy eased himself into a chair, hanging his walking-stick on the back of it. ‘So what can I do for you?’