Over the marble fireplace was a large gilt-framed mirror. Rebus studied himself in it. Behind him he could see the room. He knew he didn’t fit here.

One bedroom was for guests, the other was Lintz’s. A faint smell of embrocation, half a dozen medicine bottles on the bedside table. Books, too, a pile of them. The bed had been made, a dressing-gown draped across it. Lintz was a creature of habit; he’d been in no special hurry this morning.

The next floor up, Rebus found two further bedrooms and a toilet. There was a slight smell of damp in one room, and the ceiling was discoloured. Rebus didn’t suppose Lintz got many visitors; no impetus to redecorate. Out on the landing again, he saw that one of the stair-rails was missing. It had been propped against the wall, awaiting repair. A house this size, things would always be going wrong.

He went back downstairs. Hogan was in the basement. The kitchen had a door on to a back garden - stone patio, lawn covered in rotting leaves, an ivy-covered wall giving privacy.

‘Look what I found,’ Hogan said, coming back from the utility room. He was holding a length of rope, frayed at one end where it had been cut.

‘You think it’ll match with the noose? That would mean the killer got it from here.’

‘Meaning Lintz knew them.’

‘Anything in the office?’

‘It’s going to take a bit of time. There’s an address book, lots of entries, but most of them seem to go back a while.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Old STD codes.’

‘Computer?’

‘Not even a typewriter. He used carbons. Lots of letters to his solicitor.’

‘Trying to shut the media up?’

‘You get a couple of mentions, too. Anything upstairs?’

‘Go take a look. I’ll check the office.’

Rebus climbed upstairs and stood in the office doorway, looking around. Then he sat down at the desk and imagined the room was his. What did he do here? He conducted his daily business. There were two filing-cabinets, but to get to them he’d have to stand up from the desk. And he was an old man. Say the cabinets were for dead correspondence. More recent stuff would be closer to hand.

He tried the drawers. Found the address book Hogan had mentioned. A few letters. A small snuff-box, its contents turned solid. Lintz hadn’t even allowed himself that small vice. In a bottom drawer were some files. Rebus lifted out the one marked ‘General/ Household’. It comprised bills and guarantees. A large brown envelope was marked BT. Rebus opened it and took out the phone bills. They went back to the beginning of the year. The most recent bill was at the front. Rebus was disappointed to find that it wasn’t itemised. Then he noticed that all the other statements were. Lintz had been meticulous, placing names beside calls made, doublechecking British Telecom’s totals at the foot of each page. The whole year was like that ... right up until recently. Frowning, Rebus realised that the penultimate statement was missing. Had Lintz mislaid it? Rebus couldn’t see him mislaying anything. A missing bill would have hinted at chaos in his ordered world. No, it had to be somewhere.