'Is his hair permed, or are the curls natural?'

'God-given, far as I know.'

'You ever talked with him?'

Bell shook his head. 'I wouldn't be on the team if I had. Can't have anyone from the Stark gang clocking us.'

'Doesn't seem to apply to your boss,' Fox mused.

'Special dispensationRicky pushed hard to bring Operation Junior into the world.' Bell turned his head to study Fox. 'Go on then,' he said. 'You're bursting to ask.'

'Well, if you insistis your guy one of the four with Dennis?'

'What do you think?'

'None of them looks like a cop.'

'How far would our man get if he did? Or if he spoke or acted like one?'

'I take it he's not using his real name.'

'Course not.'

'And you've built a life story for him, just in case someone checks?'

'We have.'

'How long did you say he'd been in the gang?'

'I don't think I did say.' Bell was suddenly cagey. Rather than open any of the other photos in the album, he closed the lid of his laptop and took another slug of coffee.

Well, that was fine. Fox had names now. Given a bit of privacy, he would run another internet search, just on the off chance.

'News from Glasgow?' he asked, moving into the middle of the room.

'Joe's still there.'

'He took both his lieutenants with him when he went?'

'Yes.'

'So it's just Dennis and his gang of four left here? Any idea what they'll be doing today?'

'Looking for Hamish Wright.'

'Have they stuck around longer than in Aberdeen or Dundee?'

'Seems that way.'

'That might mean somethingmaybe they're convinced he's here.'

'Maybe,' Bell conceded.

'Your man on the inside hasn't said?'

Bell gave him a hard stare. 'He doesn't often get the chance to update us.'

'When did you last hear from him?'

'Five days ago.'

'Before you came to Edinburgh?'

'That's right. If and when the Starks get hold of Wright, that's when he'll make the call.'

'How long's he been-'

'Enough fucking questions, Fox. I wish I'd never opened my mouth in the first place.'

'Ah, but you didI think you were trying to show off in front of Rebus. Is that a fair reading?'

'Get lost.'

'Hard to do in my own office.' Fox stretched out both arms to reinforce the point. 'And you did let slip last night that your mole's been in character for over three years.' He tapped his forehead. 'Thing about not drinking is, I tend to remember things.'

'Then you'll not have forgotten what Ricky said to you that first dayyou're on probation. And after that trick you pulled, going to Rebus behind our backs...' Bell shook his head slowly. 'How's your dad, by the way?'

Fox's eyes narrowed. 'My dad?'

'And your sister, Jude. Not too close to her, are you?' Bell gave a sly smile. 'Ricky needed certain assurances that he knew the kind of man he was getting. Your boss came through with a potted biography. Now if that had been Ricky, he'd have handed over a minimum of detail with a few howlers mixed in. DCI Maxtone proved to be a lot more accommodating. Remember that when you make your next report. Some chiefs are better than others, and some teams really are teams. The sooner you stop acting as Maxtone's snitch, the sooner you'll find that out.'

'Is that a fact?'

'Think about it. You said yourself you're one step above pariah status here. Maybe we can offer you something better for a time.'

'Better than Angry Birds?'

'I'll let you be the judge of that,' Bell said, opening the lid of his laptop again.

'Papers called him the "tragic lottery victim",' Christine Esson said. 'Makes it sound as if it was the lottery that did for him.'

'Which, if someone killed him for his money, is almost true,' Clarke replied. The new-build two-storey brick house was surrounded by a high wall and electric gates. These gates had been left open for them. The driveway was short and led to a paved parking circle. To the right of the house stood a three-car garage. Clarke stopped her Astra in front of it, next to a BMW 3 Series. The man who got out of the Beemer straightened his tie and did up a button on his suit.

'DS Grant?' Clarke checked. The man nodded. 'I'm DI Clarke, this is DC Esson. Thanks for meeting us.'

'No trouble at all.' Grant ducked back into his car long enough to produce a folder, which he handed over.

'Post-mortem examination, crime scene stuff and the forensic report.'

'Much appreciated. The case is still active, yes?'

'Absolutely.'

'I'm not a reporter, Jim. You can tell the truth here.'

Grant gave a thin smile. 'I suppose we've reached the treading-water stage. Team's been cut to the bare minimum. We've interviewed everyone we can think of, put feelers out, studied CCTV from the town centre and the routes in and out of Linlithgow...'

'Much the same as we've been doing in Edinburgh.'

'High-profile victims, that's the only solid connection that I can see.'

'And men who lived alone,' Esson chipped in.

'Michael Tolland wasn't a bachelor like your Lord Minton, though,' Grant countered. 'Married quarter of a century. Wife was already ill when they scooped the lottery. Liver cancer. Didn't live long enough to get any good from it, but her husband wrote a six-figure cheque to charity after she passed on.'

'Between that and the house, he wouldn't have had a lot left over.'

'About two hundred and seventy-five thousand.'

'Any children?'

Grant shook his head. 'His sister's kids look like getting the lot. Sister passed away eight months ago.'

'Not the luckiest of families, despite appearances.' Clarke was studying the front of the house.

'Want to go inside?' Grant jangled a key chain.

'Lead the way.'

There were still bloodstains on the beige hall carpet. Clarke took out the crime scene photos, sharing them with Esson. Beyond the hall there was a large living room, dominated by an oversized TV screen and surround-sound speakers. There were a few ornaments, but not many. A single framed photo of husband and wife at their registry office wedding. Ella Tolland had worked as an administrator for the local council. A decade younger than her husband. In the photo she was managing to smile, but her mouth was closed, in contrast to her husband's toothy grin. He gripped her upper arm as if to stop her heading for the hills.

'Happy marriage, was it?' Clarke enquired.

'No reason to think otherwise. I've stuck a DVD in the folder, a couple of interviews they did after hitting the jackpot.'

'Thanks.'

Grant led them through to the kitchen, showing them where the door had been forced. The door itself had been removed as evidence and replaced with something more basic.

'We're thinking a crowbar or similar.'

'And that's what was used to attack the victim?'

'No weapon recovered, so we can only speculate, but the pathologist reckoned it would be consistent. You said on the phone, thoughyou think a hammer in Edinburgh?'

'Now you've brought up the crowbar, we may revisit that.'

'No weapon found?'

'We've searched the streets nearby, back gardens, communal bins, even the Water of Leith.'

'Same here. We had a dozen men walk the road between here and the highwayfields, ditches, you name it.'

'Any thoughts, Christine?' Clarke said.

'Does DS Grant know about the note?'

Grant himself decided to answer. 'Yes, but there was nothing like that found here.'

Clarke had opened the fridge. 'Wasn't much of a cook, was he?'

'From talking to friends, he seemed to eat in the pub a lot, or else grab takeaway.' Grant opened a drawer and lifted out a pile of menus. 'Preference for Chinese and Indianand not all local, either. Then again, if you've got money, distance is no object.'

'You've searched the house from top to bottom?' Clarke checked. 'The note would've been easy to miss.'

'I could see about giving it another go, if my boss will lend me the bodies.'

Clarke looked to Esson. 'What do you think?'

'I think the chances of the two cases being linked are slim.'

'How slim?'

'Catwalk supermodel. We've got two victims with nothing to connect themthey didn't know one another and moved in very different social circles.'

Clarke was sifting through the contents of the file. 'Mr Tolland was never in trouble with the law? No court appearances?'

'Clean as a whistle, though I dare say some of the people he looked after might not be strangers to a summons.'

'How do you mean?'

'He was a care workerpeople with problems, that sort of thing.'

'Could any of them have carried a grudge?'

'Lord Minton never handled that sort of case,' Esson cautioned.

'Maybe back in the day he did,' Clarke replied.

'I don't think this was personal,' Grant stated. 'Breaking and entering gone wrong, rather than hamesucken.'

Clarke almost smiled at his use of the wordthe Scots legal term for breaking into someone's house with intent to harm them.

'So what did they take?' she asked, closing the file once more. 'Not even his laptop or iPhone is missing. Credit cards, cash, Breitling watchall still here, same as in Lord Minton's house. Why didn't the perpetrator just wait till the place was empty? Not another house for half a milenobody to hear anything. For some reason, the victim has to be home.' She paused. 'Who found the body, by the way?'

'An old friend. Tolland had missed a pub quizhe was team captain and he took it seriously. When he didn't answer his phone, the friend dropped round. Gates locked, but when he hoisted himself up on to the wall, he could see the TV was on. Eventually he wandered around the back and found the door open.'

'How old a friend?'