'Bad stuff definitely did happen at Acorn House, Davie.'

'And I'm saying I never saw anythingI was only there a month or six weeks.'

'Your name turned up in dispatchesever meet a reporter called Patrick Spiers?'

'I remember the name.'

'He talked to you?'

'Not so much talk as pesterI told him the same thing I've just told you, but that wasn't what he wanted to hear.'

'He was trying to make a case against some very prominent men. I'm assuming he told you their names?'

'You can also assume I didn't listen.'

'How about Michael Tollandyou must remember him?'

Dunn nodded. 'He was okay. Used to dole out cigarettes and the occasional bottle of cider.'

'And he never asked for favours in return?'

They were approaching the Shore. A few stragglers from the local bars and restaurants were wending their way home, or waiting to flag down non-existent taxis. Rebus paused on the bridge, waiting for Dunn to answer, the Water of Leith dark and still below them.

'I got my life back on track, Rebus,' Dunn eventually stated. 'Got married, had a couple of kidsthat's the only thing that matters to me.'

'Nobody ever threatened you? Or paid you to keep quiet?'

'No.'

'So you ended up driving HGVs.'

'That's right.'

'For Hamish Wright.'

'Yes.'

'Who's now gone AWOL, leaving behind some very irate Glasgow gangsters.'

'The same ones who tried beating me up and then torched my pub. How come you're not going out of your way to catch them?'

'Because right now I'm interested in Acorn House. On the other hand, if there's anything you want to tell me about Hamish Wright...'

'Haven't had anything to do with him in years.'

'You'll have told Darryl that, I dare say?'

'Yes.'

'Not the sort of person you'd want to lie to.'

'I don't see what this has to do with Acorn House.'

Rebus turned to face him. 'Darryl Christie told me where to find you. He's going to want to know what we talked about.'

'So?'

'So I'm about to tell you somethingit's up to you how much of it you pass on to him.'

Dunn cocked his head. 'I'm listening,' he said.

'What if I were to say that someone seems intent on punishing the men who took part in the abuse at Acorn House?'

It took Dunn a few moments to digest Rebus's words. 'Is it true?' he asked.

'Might well be.'

'I heard that Tolland died when someone broke into his house.'

'Same thing happened to David Minton. He was a pal of Howard Champ, MP. You never met Champ?'

'Champ used to drop by,' Dunn stated coldly, leaning over the bridge and spitting into the water.

'I know this can't be easy, Davie, but I need to ask if there's anything you can tell me...'

'To catch a kid from Acorn House who's decided at last that it's Judgement Day?' Dunn's mouth twisted in a grim smile. 'Know what I say to that?'

'What?' Rebus asked, already knowing the answer.

'I'd say fucking good luck to them.'

Dunn turned and began retracing his steps, shoulders slumped, hands in pockets.

Rebus considered trying to stop him, but instead stayed where he was, the filter of his cigarette pressed between two fingers long after the cigarette itself had died. He couldn't help feeling that the man had a point, and Rebus was no longer a cop. What did it matter if Bryan Holroyd was out there, picking off his abusers and their abettors?

Yet somehow it didit did matter. Always had, always would. Not because of any of the victims or perpetrators, but for Rebus himself. Because if none of it mattered, then neither did he. A couple of drunks walked past, their gait unsteady but smiles on their faces.

'Don't jump!' one of them called out.

'Not today,' Rebus assured the man, taking out his phone to check who was calling him at this godforsaken hour.

The answer: Cafferty, naturally.

Day Nine.

36.

Mid morning, Rebus met Cafferty in a cafe on George IV Bridge.

'Are we still keeping up the pretence that you're staying at the G and V?' he asked.

Cafferty just stirred his coffee. He had secured a large table by a window looking out across Candlemaker Row to Greyfriars Kirkyard. Rebus, arriving late, hadn't bothered joining the long queue at the counter.

'I should have got you one,' Cafferty said by way of apology, lifting the cup to his lips. 'I take it you've news?'

'The kid who diedBryan Holroyddidn't really die.'

Cafferty choked the mouthful of coffee down and lowered the cup back on to its saucer.

'That's why I wanted us to meet somewhere nice and public,' Rebus went on. 'Less chance of you throwing a fit.'

'What the hell do you mean, he didn't die?'

'Miraculous recovery in the boot of the car. When Dave Ritter opened it, Holroyd leapt out and ran into the woods. Ritter and Jeffries went after him but had to give up eventually. They reckoned he would freeze to death.'

'Bastards, the pair of them.'

'They were bricking it for weeks in case you found out.'

'You got this from Ritter? Where's he holed up? I want a nice long word with him.'

Rebus was shaking his head. 'Not going to happen.'

'So this Holroyd kid's coming after us? After all these years?' Cafferty didn't sound convinced.

'Unless you've got a better theory.'

Cafferty was gripping the edge of the table with both hands, as though he might tip it over at any moment. His eyes flitted around the room as his thoughts tumbled, his breathing growing hoarse.

'No coronaries, please,' Rebus advised him.

'There's got to be a reckoning, John. No way I can let those two shits get away with it.'

'At least now we have a line on the person we're looking for. Only problem is, Holroyd seems to have gone off-gridno sign of a conviction, or a National Insurance number, or taxes being paid.'

'You sure of that?'

'Christine Esson did the diggingshe's thorough as any gold miner.'

'He fled the country then, and has only just come back?'

'No passport in his name.'

'Then he's changed it.'

'Which makes our job all the harder. Doesn't help that I've only the vaguest physical description, and he'll have changed a bit in thirty years. There is one thing, thoughwe've got a live one right here in Edinburgh. Or Portobello, if you want to be precise.'

'Who?'

'Todd DalrympleRitter told me he was there that night.'

'But Todd always had an eye for the ladiesthe man's been married three decades or more.'

'Chief Constable was married too,' Rebus said.

'Do we go talk to Dalrymple?'

'I certainly do, and you're invited if you think you can refrain from doing any major structural damage.' Rebus's phone was ringing: Siobhan. He got up from the table. 'Got to take this,' he said, making for the door. He pressed the phone to his ear as he passed the queue at the counter, a queue that now stretched the length of the cafe. 'Yes?' he said, pulling open the door and emerging on to George IV Bridge.

'We missed you last night.'

'That was always a probability. How was the grub?'

'Good as ever. But here's the thingone of their takeaway menus was in Minton's downstairs hall.'

'And?'

'They say they don't flyer that far from the restaurant. So it's a bit odd, wouldn't you say, that there was also one in Michael Tolland's kitchen?'

'In Linlithgow?' Rebus had been wrestling a cigarette out of the packet, but her words stopped him.

'I had local CID go check,' she was saying.

'So what's your thinking?'

'If you were scoping a street out, or a particular house, and you didn't want to look suspicious...'

'Nobody pays much attention to someone sticking leaflets through doors.' Rebus put the cigarette packet back in his pocket. 'You might well be on to something.'

'I'm heading to Newington Spice to ask the boss a few questions. But in the meantime...'

'You're wondering if Cafferty got one too? Easy enough to checkhe's right here with me.'

'Great.'

'Anything else?'

'Malcolm's dad's unchanged.'

'And Malcolm himself?'