‘Hiya, Bobby,’ Rebus said.

Bobby Hogan was Leith CID.

‘To get back to my initial observation, John ...’

‘What am I supposed to be thanking you for?’

Hogan nodded towards the body bag. ‘Taking Mr Lintz off your hands. ‘Don’t tell me you were enjoying digging into all that?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Any idea who might have wanted him dead?’

Rebus puffed out his cheeks. ‘Where do you want me to start?’

‘I mean, I’m right to rule out the usual, aren’t I?’

Hogan held up three fingers. ‘It wasn’t suicide, muggers aren’t quite this creative, and it surely wasn’t an accident.’

‘Someone was making a point, no doubt about it.’

‘But what sort of point?’

Scene of Crime officers were busying themselves, filling the locus with noise and movement. Rebus gestured for Hogan to walk with him. They were deep in the cemetery, the part Lintz had loved so much. As they walked, the place grew wilder, more overgrown.

‘I was here with him yesterday morning,’ Rebus said. ‘I don’t know if he had a routine exactly, but he came here most days.’

‘We found a bag of gardening tools.’

‘He planted flowers.’

‘So if someone knew he’d be coming, they could have been waiting?’

Rebus nodded. ‘An assassination.’

Hogan was thoughtful. ‘Why hang him?’

‘It’s what happened at Villefranche. The town elders were strung up in the square.’

‘Jesus.’

Hogan stopped walking. ‘I know you’ve got other stuff on the go, but can you help out on this, John?’

‘Any way I can.’

‘A list of possibles would do for a start.’

‘How about an old woman living in France, and a Jewish historian who walks with a stick?’

‘Is that all you’ve got?’

‘Well, there’s always me. Yesterday I as good as accused him of trying to kill my daughter.’ Hogan stared at him. ‘I don’t think he did it.’

Rebus paused, thinking of Sammy: he’d called the hospital first thing. She was still unconscious; they still weren’t using the word ‘coma’. ‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘Special Branch, a guy called Abernethy. He was here talking to Lintz.’

‘What’s the connection?’

‘Abernethy’s co-ordinating the various war crimes investigations. He’s street-tough, not your typical desk-jockey.’

‘A strange choice for the job?’

Rebus nodded. ‘Which hardly makes him a suspect.’

‘I’m doing my best, Bobby. We could check Lintz’s house, see if we can turn up any of the hate mail he claimed he’d been getting.’

“‘Claimed”?’

Rebus shrugged. ‘You were never sure where you were with Lintz. Do you have any idea what happened?’

‘From what you’ve told me, I’d guess he came down here as usual to do his gardening stint - he’s certainly dressed for it. Someone was waiting. They smacked him over the head, stuck his neck in a noose, and hauled him up into the tree. The rope was tied around a headstone.’

‘Did the hanging kill him?’

‘Doctor says yes. Haemorrhages in the eyes. What do you call them?’

‘Tardieu spots.’

‘That’s it. The blow to the head was just to knock him out. Something else - bruising and cuts on the face. Looks like someone kicked him when he was down.’