Moncur had imported Scottish smoked salmon into the USA, though the Canadian stuff was just a mite closer to hand. The salmon farm he used was just north of Kyle of Lochalsh. Its name struck home. Rebus had come across the name very recently. He went back to the files on Cafferty, and there it was. Cafferty had been legitimate partowner of the farm in the 1970s and early 80s… around the time him and Jinky Johnson were washing and drying dirty money for the UVF.

'This is beautiful,' Rebus said to himself. He hadn't just squared the circle, he'd created an unholy triangle out of it.

He got a patrol car to take him to the Gar-B.

From the back seat, he had a more relaxed view of the whole of Pilmuir. Clyde Moncur had talked about the early Scottish settlers. The new settlers, of course, took on just as tough a life, moving into the private estates which were being built around and even in Pilmuir. This was a frontier life, complete with marauding natives who wanted the intruders gone, border skirmishes, and wilderness experiences aplenty. These estates provided starter homes for those making the move from the rented sector. They also provided starter courses in basic survival.

Rebus wished the settlers well.

When they got to the Gar-B, Rebus gave the uniforms their instructions and sat in the back seat enjoying the stares of passers-by. They were away a while, but when they came back one of them was pulling a boy by his forearm and pushing the boy's bike. The other one had two kids, no bikes. Rebus looked at them. He recognised the one with the bike.

'You can let the others go,' he said. 'But him, I want in here with me.’

The boy got into the car reluctantly. His pals ran as soon as the officers released them. When they were far enough away, they turned to watch. They wanted to know what would happen.

'What's your name, son?’ Rebus asked.

'Jock.’

Maybe it was true and maybe it wasn't. Rebus wasn't bothered. 'Shouldn't you be at school, Jock?’

'We've no' started back yet.”

This too could be true; Rebus didn't know. 'Do you remember me, son?’

'It wasnae me did your tyres.’

Rebus shook his head. 'That's all right. I'm not here about that. But you remember when I came here?’

The boy nodded.

'Remember you were with a pal, and he thought I was someone else. Remember? He asked me where my flash car was.’

The boy shook his head. 'And you told him that I wasn't who he thought I was. Who did he think I was, son?’

'I don't know.’

'Yes you do.’

'I don't.’

'But someone a bit like me, eh? Similar build, age, height? Fancier clothes though, I'll bet.’

'Maybe.’

'What about his car, the swanky car?’

'A custom Merc.’

Rebus smiled. There were some things boys just had eyes and a memory for. 'What colour Merc?’

'Black, all of it. The windows too.’

'Seen him here a lot 'Don't know.’

'Nice car though, eh?’

The boy shrugged.

'Right, son, on you go.’

'The boy knew from the pleased look on the policeman's face that he'd made a mistake, that he'd somehow helped. His cheeks burned with shame. He snatched his bike from the constable and ran with it, looking back from time to time. His pals were waiting to question him.

'Get what you were looking for, sir?’ asked one of the uniforms, getting back into the car.

'Exactly what I was looking for,' said Rebus.

25

He went to see Mairie, but a friend was looking after her and Mairie herself was sleeping. The doctor had given her a few sleeping pills. Left alone in the flat with an unconscious Mairie, he could have gone through her notes and computer files, but the friend didn't even let him over the threshold. She had a pinched face with prominent cheeks and a few too many teeth in her quiet but determined mouth.

'Tell her I called,' Rebus said, giving up. He had retrieved his car from the back of the hotel. Cafferty would find him, with or without the rust-bucket to point the way. He drove to Fettes where DCI Kilpatrick had an update on the Clyde Moncur surveillance.

'He's acting the tourist, John, no more or less. He and his wife are admiring the sights, taking bus tours, buying souvenirs.’

Kilpatrick sat back in his chair. 'The men I put on it are restless. Like they say, it's hardly likely he's here on business when his wife's with him.’

'Or else it's the perfect cover.’

'A couple more days, John, that's all we can give it.’

'I I appreciate it, sir.’

'What about this body at the Crazy Hose?’

'Millie Docherty, sir.’

'Yes, any ideas?’

Rebus just shrugged. Kilpatrick didn't seem to expect an answer. Part of his mind was still on Calumn Smylie. They were about to open an internal inquiry. There would be questions to answer about the whole investigation.

'I hear you had a run in with Smylie,' Kilpatrick said.

So Ormiston had been talking. 'Just one of those things, sir.’

`Watch out for Smylie, John.’

'That's all I seem to do these days, sir, watch out for people.’

But he knew now that Smylie was the least of his problems.