'He's Christie's man.'

'Want me to have a word with Complaints?'

Clarke shook her head. 'It stays with us, as long as he tells Christie it's finished between them.'

A waiter was hovering. 'Gentleman, madamwas everything satisfactory?'

'Delicious,' Fox said.

'Desserts? Coffee?'

'Maybe a coffeehow about you, Siobhan?'

She nodded and started to get up. 'Back in a sec,' she said to Fox, as the waiter pointed her towards the toilets.

While she was washing her hands, she saw that a display of takeaway menus had been positioned on the window ledge next to the sink.

Pays to advertise, she said to herself, remembering that David Minton, over on the other side of town, had been the recipient of a menu from Newington Spice. As she walked past the bar, she stopped and said as much to the waiter.

'Do you really get people trekking across town?' she asked.

'We like to think we are worth a detour,' the waiter said with a smile. 'But I doubt we'd pay for someone to flyer quite that far away. Perhaps the menu was taken home after a meal.'

'Looked like it had been pushed through the door.'

The waiter just shrugged, smile still in place. By the time Clarke reached the table, Fox could see that something had changed.

'What is it?' he asked.

'Probably nothing.'

'Try me.'

'There was a menu from here in Minton's hallway. Waiter says they only flyer locally.'

'So?'

'Like I say, it's probably nothing.' But she had taken her phone out and was standing up again. 'I just need to make a call...'

She stepped outside, away from the piped music and the hissing of the espresso machine. Jim Grant's number was in her list of contacts. When he picked up, she apologised for calling so late.

'I'm in the pub if you fancy joining me.'

'Another time maybe. Do you remember us talking in Michael Tolland's kitchen?'

'How could I forget?'

'You said something about him eating out a lot, and using takeaways...'

'Yes?'

'And also something about him being rich enough to be able to order from far afield?'

'Okay.' His tone told Clarke he was wondering where she was going with this.

'How did you know that? Was it because of the menus in the kitchen drawer?'

'Must have been, I suppose.'

'You don't remember?'

'I don't, to be honest.'

'Do you think you could go back to his house for me and check?'

'In the morning, you mean?'

'Right now would be better.'

'I'm probably in no fit state to drive.'

'But you can get someone to take you?'

'Can I assume you're not offering?'

She ignored this. 'I'm interested in a restaurant called Newington Spice on the south side of Edinburgh. Just ping me a text when you've checked.'

'If it's food you're after...'

'Text me,' Clarke demanded, ending the call.

Rebus was halfway between Perth and Edinburgh when he got a message from Christine Esson: Long day in the salt minesyou owe me a whole bakery. Didn't find much & drew a blank w/ Holroyd. Internet search etc. and it's like he never existed. Did get a hit on one nameDavid Dunn. Surprised you don't know him. Ran the Gimlet till it burned down.

Cursing under his breath, Rebus called her back.

'It's late,' she told him.

'Tell me about Davie Dunn.'

'He was in Acorn House for only a few weeks, not long before it was shut down. Shoplifting, drugs, a bit of gang activity. Cleaned up his act, though. Got a job as a van driver, passed his HGV, started on long distance. Worked for Hamish Wright Highland Haulage for a while.'

'Anything else?'

'I've got plenty of scrawls and scribbles. I'll type them up in the morning.'

'You're a star, Christine.'

'The brightest in any constellation.'

He ended the call and made another. Darryl Christie seemed to be driving when he picked up. Rebus could hear a stereo being muted.

'What do you want?' Christie asked with minimum politeness.

'I need to talk to Davie Dunn.'

'I'm not stopping you.'

'He's hardly likely to be at the Gimlet, though.'

'Rub it in, why don't you.'

'We both know you had the place torched, Darryleasier that way to flog the land to a supermarket.'

'I really didn't.'

'Tell you what, thengive me a number for Davie and I'll believe you.'

'Why do you need to speak to him?'

'That's between me and him.'

'He'll tell me if I ask.'

'And you'll be denied that treat unless I speak to him first.'

'You've got a good line in patter, I can't deny it.' Then, after a pause: 'Try Brogan's.'

Rebus glanced at the time. 'Will it still be open?'

'Probably not, but there's an after-hours card game. When they unlock the door, just mention my name...'

Late night meant no queue at the Forth Road Bridge and a quick drive into town. Brogan's was a pub in Leith. Rebus felt like death as he parked the Saab and got out. He dreaded to think how many miles he had covered. His neck felt like it was in a vice and his knees were throbbing. What was the name of that film Siobhan had wanted to take him to? No Country for Old Men? No denying he was old, and he doubted he would ever drive as much of the country again. From the outside, Brogan's looked deserted, but Rebus tried the thick wooden door and then banged on it with a fist.

'We're shut,' a voice barked.

'Darryl Christie said it would be fine.'

Immediately he could hear bolts being drawn back. The door was pulled open and Rebus stepped inside. The man on guard duty looked like a regular who'd been slipped a couple of free drinks as payment. He was big without being threatening. Rebus nodded a greeting.

'Back room,' the man said, sliding the bolts across once more.

Rebus headed past the shuttered bar and down a narrow passageway with pungent toilets off to one side. He could hear low voices, soft laughter. The back room was twelve feet square. One of its circular tables had been placed in a central position, and five men sat in a tight fit around it. Four more were perched on stools at the still-operational bar. There was no barman, and they seemed to be helping themselves. Rebus knew a couple of the faces, and held up his palms to show he wasn't about to cause a fuss.

'Join the queue,' one of the men at the table said, as chips were counted and readied for the next hand.

'Just need a quick word with Davie,' Rebus announced.

Davie Dunn turned round and saw the new arrival for the first time. 'Who are you?'

'His name's Rebus,' one of the others said. 'CID.'

Dunn considered for a moment, then pushed back his chair and got up. Rebus gestured towards the jacket draped over the chair.

'Might need that. And your chips as well.'

'A quick word, you said?'

'No way of telling,' Rebus admitted with a shrug.

They headed for the street, the sentry looking aggrieved at being disturbed again so soon. On the pavement, Rebus got a cigarette lit and offered one to Dunn. The man shook his head.

'Mind if we walk?' Rebus said. 'I could do with stretching my legs.'

'Hell is this all about?'

But Rebus moved off without talking. After a few moments, Dunn caught him up, the two men walking in silence for a few yards, Rebus feeling his joints loosen, glad of the exercise.

'It's about Acorn House,' he eventually admitted.

'And what's that when it's at home?'

'It's the assessment centre you were in for a few weeks in the mid eighties.'

'Ancient history.'

'It seems to have become current.'

'How do you mean?'

'Did you ever come across a lad called Bryan Holroyd?'

'No.'

'Sure about that?'

'I really don't remember much from those days.'

'Is that because you don't want to? I've heard some of the stories, and I know what went on there.'

'Oh aye?'

'Boys used by older menmen who should have known better.'

'I must have been too ugly then.'

'It never happened to you?'

Dunn was shaking his head. 'But I did hear the rumours. Mind, every place like that I ever stayed, there were always rumoursit was a way of putting the fear of God into you so you didn't step out of line.'