'Inspector Rebus, sir.'

Kinnoul looked surprised, then relieved, then, Rebus thought, worried. The problem was those eyes; they didn't seem to change, did they? So that Rebus began to wonder whether the surprise, relief and worry were in Kinnoul's mind or in his own.

'Inspector, what's… I mean, is there something wrong?'

'No, no, sir. It's just that some books have been stolen, rare books, and we're going around talking to private collectors.'

'Oh.' Now Kinnoul broke into a grin. Rebus didn't think he'd seen him grin in any of his TV or film roles. He could see why. The grin changed Kinnoul from ominous heavy into overgrown teenager, lighting his face, making it innocent and benign. 'So it's Cath you want then?' He looked over Rebus's shoulder at his wife. 'All right, Cath?'

'Fine, Rab.'

Kinnoul looked at Rebus again. The grin had disappeared. 'Maybe you'd like to see the library, Inspector? Cath and you can have a chat in there.'

'Thank you, sir.'

Rebus took the back roads on his way into Edinburgh. They were nicer, certainly quieter. He'd learned very little in the Kinnoul's library, except that Kinnoul felt protective towards his wife, so protective that he'd felt unable to leave Rebus alone with her. What was he afraid of? He had stalked the library, had pretended to browse, and sat down with a book, all the time listening as Rebus asked his simple questions and left the simple list and asked Cath Kinnoul to be on the lookout. And she'd nodded, fingering the xeroxed sheet of paper.

The 'library' in fact was an upper room of the house, probably intended at one time as a bedroom. Two walls had been fitted with shelves, most of them sheeted with sliding glass doors. And behind these sheets of glass sat a dull collection of books – dull to Rebus's eyes, but they seemed enough to bring Cath Kinnoul out of her daydreams. She pointed out some of the exhibits to Rebus.

'Fine first edition… rebound in calfskin… some pages still uncut. Just think, that book was printed in 1789, but if I cut open those pages I'd be the first person ever to read them. Oh, and that's a Creech edition of Burns… first time Burns was published in Edinburgh. And I've some modern books, too. There's Muriel Spark… Midnight's Children… George Orwell…"

'Have you read them all?'

She looked at Rebus as though he'd asked her about her sexual preferences. Kinnoul interrupted.

'Cath's a collector, Inspector.' He came over and put his arm around her. 'It could have been stamps or porcelain or old china dolls, couldn't it, love? But it's books. She collects books.' He gave her a squeeze. 'She doesn't read them. She collects them.'

Rebus shook his head now, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He'd shoved a Rolling Stones tape into the car's cassette player. An aid to constructive thought. On the one hand, you had Professor Costello, with his marvellous library, the books read and reread, worth a fortune but still there for the borrowing… for the reading. And on the other hand there was Cath Kinnoul. He didn't quite know why he felt so sorry for her. It couldn't be easy being married to…well, she'd said it herself, hadn't she? Except that she'd been talking about Elizabeth Jack. Rebus was intrigued by Mrs Jack. More, he was becoming fascinated by her. He hoped he would meet her soon…

The call from Dufftown came just as he got into the office. On the stairs, he'd been told of another rumour. By the middle of next week, there would be official notification that Great London Road was to close. Then back I go to Marchmont, Rebus thought.

The telephone was ringing. It was always ringing either just as he was coming in, or else just as he was about to go out. He could sit in his chair for hours and never once…

'Hello, Rebus here.'

There was a pause, and enough snap-crackle over the line for the call to be trans-Siberian.

'Is that Inspector Rebus?'

Rebus sighed and fell into his chair. 'Speaking.'

'Hello, sir. This is a terrible line. It's Constable Moffat. You wanted someone to go to Deer Lodge.'

Rebus perked up. 'That's right.'

'Well, sir, I've just been over there and – ' And there was a noise like an excited geiger counter. Rebus held the receiver away from his ear. When the noise had stopped, the constable was still speaking. 'I don't know what more I can tell you, sir.'

'You can tell me the whole bloody lot again for a start,' Rebus said. 'The line went supernova for a minute there.'

Constable Moffat began again, articulating his words as though in conversation with a retard. 'I was saying, sir, that I went over to Deer Lodge, but there's no one at home. No car outside. I had a look through the windows. I'd say someone had been there at some time. Looked like there'd been a bit of a party. Wine bottles and glasses and stuff. But there's no one there at the minute.'

'Did you ask any of the neighbours…?' As he said it, Rebus knew this to be a stupid question. The constable was already laughing.

'There aren't any neighbours, sir. The nearest would be Mr and Mrs Kennoway, but they're a mile hike the other side of the-hills.'

'I see. And there's nothing else you can tell me?'

'Not that I can think of. If there was anything in particular…? I mean, I know the lodge is owned by that MP, and I saw in the papers…"

'No,' Rebus was quick to say, 'nothing to do with that.' He didn't want more rumours being tossed around like so many cabers at a Highland games. 'Just wanted a word with Mrs Jack. We thought she might be up there.'

'Aye, she's up this way occasionally, so I hear.'

'Well, if you hear anything else, let me know, won't you?'

'Goes without saying, sir.' Which, Rebus supposed, it did.

The constable sounded a bit hurt. 'And thanks for your help,' Rebus added, but received only a curt 'Aye' before the phone went dead.

'Fuck you too, pal,' he said to himself, before going off in search of Gregor Jack's home telephone number.

Of course, there was an almighty chance that the phone would still be unplugged. Still, it was worth a try. The number itself would be on computer, but Rebus reckoned he'd be quicker looking for it in the filing cabinet. And sure enough, he found a sheet of paper headed 'Parliamentary Constituencies in Edinburgh and Lothians' on which were given the home addresses and telephone numbers of the area's eleven MPs. He punched in the ten numbers, waited, and was rewarded with the ringing tone. Not that that meant-

'Hello?'

'Is that Mr Urquhart?'

'I'm sorry, Mr Urquhart's not here right at the moment -'

But of course by now Rebus recognized the voice. 'Is that you, Mr Jack? It's Inspector Rebus here. We met yester -'

'Why yes, hello, Inspector. You're in luck. We plugged the phone back in this morning, and Ian's spent all day taking calls. He's just taken a break. He thought we should unplug the thing again, but I plugged it back in myself when he'd gone. I hate to think I'm completely cut off. My constituents, after all, might need to get -'

'What about Miss Greig?'

'She's working. Work must go on. Inspector. There's an office to the back of the house where she does the typing and so on. Helen's really been a -'

'And Mrs Jack? Any news?'

Now the flow seemed to have dried up. There was a parched cough. Rebus could visualize a readjustment of facial features, maybe even a scratching of finger, a running of fingers through hair…

'Why… yes, funny you should mention it. She phoned this morning.'

'Oh?'

'Yes, poor love. Said she'd been trying for hours, but of course the phone was disconnected all day Sunday and busy most of today – '

'She's at your cottage then?'

'That's right, yes. Spending a week there. I told her to stay put. No point in her getting dragged into all this rubbish, is there? It'll soon blow over. My solicitor – '