'Is Page still going along with the plan?' Rebus asked.

'What plan?'

'Pretending the same attacker did for Minton and Dennis Stark both.'

'I'm not sure the Fiscal's office is enthusiasticthey see it as unfair on the family.'

'Thing is, family in this case means Joe Stark.'

'I know...' She broke off, staring into the distance. Then: 'Any joy from the internet?'

It took Rebus a moment to work out that she meant the dog rather than the two names he'd given to Christine Esson. He shook his head.

'So what's keeping you busy today?'

'Couple of wee things,' he lied. 'Might be something or nothing.' He placed his phone on the table and lifted the tea. 'By the way, have you dismissed the possibility of a link between Minton and that Linlithgow attack?'

'Pretty much. Why do you ask?'

'Because Cafferty happened to mention it.'

'Oh?'

'The attacks on Minton, Cafferty himself and the guy in Linlithgowhe mentioned them in the same breath. And something else...'

'What?'

'The victim in Linlithgow...'

'Michael Tolland?'

Rebus nodded. 'Cafferty said something about him being a care worker.'

'He was.'

'Yes, but not knowing him, is that how you would describe him?'

'No,' she conceded.

Rebus nodded his agreement. 'You'd say "millionaire", or "lottery winner", right?'

'Right.'

'So why didn't Cafferty? It was like that wasn't what was important.'

Clarke thought for a moment. 'You think I should dig a little deeper?'

Rebus shrugged, but he knew the seed had been planted. 'So you're bringing in Compston and his crew, eh? Are there still tickets available?'

'I can probably get you on the guest list.' Her phone pinged, telling her she had a text. She checked her screen. 'Talk of the devil,' she said. 'Boss wants me in his office.'

'He can be a fast worker when necessary.'

She got to her feet, pushing away her coffee. 'You really think they'll give us anything?'

'Compston's gang?' Rebus pondered this. 'I very much doubt it.'

'Then why are we bothering?'

'Because it's the right thing to do.'

'That's pretty much word for word what Malcolm said.' Clarke smiled tiredly, gave a little wave and was gone.

Rebus turned his attention to his own phone. Should have looked in the phone book, John, he chided himself. Maybe Jeffries and Ritter were in there too...

'Hello?' The voice was deep and throaty. There was a dog barking somewhere behind it.

'Mr Dalrymple? My name's John Rebus. I'm calling from the police.'

'Oh aye?' Then: 'John B! Will you be quiet!'

'I was wondering if I could talk to you.'

The dog's barking had grown more insistent.

'He's wanting his walk,' Dalrymple apologised. 'I need to take him out.'

'I have a few questions about your time at Milligan's Casino,' Rebus ploughed on.

'Sorry, son, I can't hear a thing.'

'Maybe you could shut the dog in another room.'

'Give me your number and I'll phone you back. I'll only be an hour or two.'

'Where do you take him?'

'Eh?'

'John Bwhere do you go walking?'

'The Promenade usually.'

'I'll meet you there.'

'I'll be at the Joppa end, just down from James Street. John B is hard to misstwice the energy of any other dog on the beach. Just look for the doddery old bastard failing to keep up with him...'

23.

The wind had died down and the temperature was a few degrees above freezing. The Promenade was a wide walkway which, towards Portobello, was fronted by fast-food takeaways, gaming arcades and bars. At the Joppa end, however, it was much quieter, with houses and flats facing the estuary. The tide was halfway out and the sand damp and pale yellow. There were views across to Fife, Cockenzie and Berwick Law. Plenty of dog-walkers. Rebus watched a huddle of dogs as they leapt at and past each other down near the surf. One was barking enthusiastically. It was a cross-breed with a short black coat, and seemed almost to be grinning in wonder at the world. A man a few years older than Rebus and dressed in tan cords and a Barbour jacket watched from the other side of the wall, whistling and calling out occasionally, to no effect whatsoever.

'Come here, John B! Come on, boy!'

Rebus took up a position next to Todd Dalrymple, facing the water. Dalrymple glanced at him.

'You the cop?'

'Why John B?'

'For John Bellany.'

'The painter?'

'He grew up in Port Seton. I always loved his fishing boats...' Dalrymple blew his nose noisily. 'You got a dog?' He watched Rebus shake his head. 'You should. They're proven to add years to your lifeif they don't give you a heart attack first.'

'They need exercise, though. I'm not really the type.'

'Good excuse to get away from the wife for an hourand plenty of pubs accept dogs.'

'I'm suddenly warming to the notion.'

Dalrymple's eyes creased in a smile. 'So what can I do for you, officer?'

'It's a bit of a long shot. You'll know Big Ger Cafferty?'

'I know the name.'

'He used to drop by Milligan's.'

'Not too often.'

'He bumped into an old acquaintance there fifteen years or so back, guy called Paul Jeffries.'

Dalrymple started calling for John B again. Rebus got the feeling he was playing for time while he considered his response. Eventually he turned his head towards Rebus.

'I knew Paul,' he said. 'He worked for me.'

Rebus tried not to show his surprise. 'In what capacity?'

'Driver. I'd lost my licence, and he offered.'

'You knew he used to do jobs for Cafferty?'

'He told me.'

'Any idea what sort of jobs?'

'Driving. Why the sudden interest?'

'When did you last see him, Mr Dalrymple?'

'Three weeks back.'

Rebus gave a little cough as he tried to hide his surprise.

'He's in a care homeactually more of a hospice. Not much left up here.' Dalrymple tapped his forehead with a gloved finger.

'I'm sorry to hear that. He's still in the city, then?'

Dalrymple nodded. 'You've not said what's going on.'

'Does the name Dave Ritter mean anything to you?'

'Pal of Paul's, wasn't he? Remember him being mentioned.'

'You didn't meet him, though?'

'Don't think so. Did you ever go to Milligan's in its heyday?' He watched Rebus shake his head. 'Some wild nights we had. Place heaving, tables full and punters waiting their turn. Off the oil rigs and pockets full of cash, plus workers from the Chinese restaurantsthose guys knew what they were up to; they'd watch a new croupier to see if they had any weaknesses. Beautiful women visited too, dressed to the ninesnot too many of them on the game. Businessmen ordering champagne and expensive cigars...'

'I'm surprised Cafferty never tried getting his feet under the table.'

'He made overtures. But he soon realised I was no slouch.'

'I knew you ran the placebut you owned it, too?'

'Started off with loans from my familynot that they necessarily liked the business. I cleared those debts soon enough, though. Aye, it was my place all right.'

'How long did Paul Jeffries drive for you?'

'Two, three years.'

'Then what?'

Dalrymple shrugged. 'He still came by. Bit of a rough diamond, our Paul. He never divulged how he was making a crust.'

'He left or you fired him?'

'I think the job just wasn't as exciting as he'd hoped for.'

Rebus looked Dalrymple up and down. 'You're well-educated, I can tell, and you come from money. No disrespect, sir, but I'd say you wouldn't have had much in your arsenal if Cafferty had really wanted to put the moves on you.'