`What makes you so sure?’
`The size.’
`Plenty of adults around with small hands.’
`I suppose so…’
`You sound sceptical.’
`More likely to be one of two scenarios. One, Sammy was hit by a joyrider. I know what you think, but it does happen. Two, the prints belong to whoever rifled the car after it was left at the cemetery.’
`The kid who took the cassette player and tapes?’
`Exactly.’
`No other prints? Not even partials?’
`The car was clean, John.’
`Exterior?’
`Same three sets on the doors, plus Sammy's on the bonnet.’
Pryde yawned again. `So what about your grudge theory?’
`Still holds. A pro would be wearing gloves.’
`That's what I was thinking. Not too many pros out there though.’
`No.’
Rebus was thinking of the Weasel: I'm dealing with slime to catch a slug. Nothing he hadn't done before, only this time there were personal reasons.
And he didn't think there'd be a trial.
18
Breakfast was on Hogan: bacon rolls in a brown paper bag. They ate them in the CID room at St Leonard's. A Murder Room had been established in Leith, and that's where Hogan should have been.
Only he wanted Rebus's files, and he knew better than to trust Rebus to deliver them.
`Thought I'd save you the hassle,' was what he said.
`You're a gentleman,' Rebus answered, examining the interior of his roll. `Tell me, are pigs an endangered species?’
`I lifted half a slice from you.’
Hogan pulled a string of fat from his mouth, tossed it into a bin. `Thought I was doing you a favour: cholesterol and all that.’
Rebus put the roll to one side, took a swig from the can of IrnBru – Hogan's idea of a morning beverage – and swallowed. What was sugar consumption compared to HIV? `What did you get from the cleaning lady?’
`Grief. Soon as she heard her employer was dead, the taps were on.’
Hogan brushed flour from his fingers: mealtime over. `She never met any of his friends, never had occasion to answer his telephone, hadn't noticed any change in him recently, and doesn't think he was a mass murderer. Quote: "If he'd killed that many people, I'd have known".’
`What is she, psychic or something?’
Hogan shrugged. `About all I got from her was a glowing character reference and the fact that as she was paid in advance, she owes his estate a partial refund.’
`There's your motive.’
Hogan smiled. `Speaking of motives…’
`You've got something?’
'Lintz's lawyer has come up with a letter from the deceased's bank.’
He handed Rebus a photocopy. `Seems our man made a cash withdrawal of five grand ten days ago.’
`Cash?’
`We found ten quid on his person, and about another thirty bar in the house. No five grand. I'm beginning to think blackmail.’
Rebus nodded. `What about his address book?’
`Slow work. A lot of old numbers, people who've moved on or died. Plus a few charities, museums… an art gallery or two.’
Hogan paused. `What about you?’
Rebus opened his drawer, pulled out the fax sheets. `Waiting for me this morning. The calls Lintz wanted kept secret.’
Hogan looked down the list. `Calls plural, or one in particular?’
`I've just started going through them. Best guess: there'll be callers he spoke to regularly. Those numbers will show up on the other statements. We're looking for anomalies, one-offs.’
`Makes sense.’
Hogan looked at his watch. `Anything else I should know?’
`Two things. Remember I told you about the Special Branch interest?’
'Abernethy?’
Rebus nodded. `I tried calling him yesterday.’
`And?’
`According to his office, he was on his way up here. He'd already heard the news.’
`So I've got Abernethy sniffing around, and you don't trust him? Terrific. What's the other thing?’
`David Levy. I. spoke with his daughter. She doesn't know where he is. He could be anywhere.’
`With a grudge against Lintz?’
`It's possible.’
`What's his phone number?’
Rebus patted the topmost file on his desk. `Ready for you to take away.’
Hogan studied the foot-high pile, looking glum.
`I whittled it down to what's absolutely necessary,' Rebus told him.
`There's a month's reading there.’
Rebus shrugged. `My case is your case, Bobby.’
With Hogan gone, Rebus went back to the British Telecom list. It was as detailed as he could have wished for. Lots of calls to Lintz's solicitor, a few to one of the city's taxi firms. Rebus tried a couple of numbers, found himself connected to charity offices: Lintz would have been phoning to tender his resignation. There were a few calls that stood out from the crowd: the Roxburghe Hotel – duration four minutes; Edinburgh University – twenty-six minutes. The Roxburghe had to mean Levy. Rebus knew Levy had talked to Lintz Lintz himself had admitted it. Talking to him – being confronted by him – was one thing; calling him at his hotel quite another.
The number for Edinburgh University connected Rebus to the main switchboard. He asked to be put through to Lintz's old department. The secretary was very helpful. She'd been in the job over twenty years, was due to retire. Yes, she remembered Professor Lintz, but he hadn't contacted the department recently.
`Every call that comes through here, I know about it.’
`He might have got straight through to a tutor though?’
Rebus suggested.
`No one's mentioned speaking to him. There's nobody here from the Professor's day.’
`He doesn't keep in touch with the department?’
`I haven't spoken to him in years, Inspector. Too many years for me to remember…’
So who had he been talking to for over twenty minutes? Rebus thanked the secretary and put down the phone. He went through the other numbers: a couple of restaurants, a wine shop, and the local radio station. Rebus told the receptionist what he was after, and she said she'd do her best. Then he went back to the restaurants, asked them to check if Lintz had been making a reservation.
Within half an hour, the calls started coming in. First restaurant: a booking for dinner, just the one cover. The radio station: they'd asked Lintz to appear on a programme. He'd said he'd consider it, then had called back to decline. Second restaurant: a lunch reservation, two covers.
`Two?’
`Mr Lintz and one other.’
`Any idea who the "other" might have been?’
`Another gentleman, quite elderly, I think… I'm sorry, I don't really remember.’
`Did he walk with a stick?’
`I wish I could help, but it's a madhouse here at lunchtime.’
`You remember Lintz though?’
`Mr Lintz is a regular… was a regular.’
`Did he usually eat alone, or with company?’
`Mostly alone. He didn't seem to mind. He'd bring a book with him.’
`Do you happen to recall any of his other guests?’
`I remember a young woman… his daughter maybe? Or granddaughter?’
`So when you say "young"…?’
`Younger than him.’
A pause. `Maybe much younger.’
`When was this?’
`I really don't remember.’
The voice impatient now.
`I appreciate your help, sir. Just one more minute of your time… This woman, did he bring her more than once?’
`I'm sorry, Inspector. The kitchen needs me.’
`Well, if you think of anything else…’
`Of course. Goodbye.’
Rebus put the phone down, made some notes. Just one number left. He waited for an answer.
`Yeah?’
The voice grudging.
`Who's this?’
`This is Malky. Who the fuck are you?’
A voice in the background: `Tommy says that new machine's fucked.’
Rebus put the phone down. His hand was shaking. That new machine… Tommy Telford on his arcade motorbike. He remembered The Family mugshots: Malky Jordan. Tiny nose and eyes in a balloon of a face. Joseph Lintz talking to one of Telford's men? Phoning Telford's offce?? Rebus found the number of Hogan's mobile.