'And somehow it ties in with Flip Balfour, but you're not going to tell me how?' Holly licked his lips; he was enjoying this.

'That's right,' Wylie said.

'It must have hurt.' His voice was almost solicitous.

'What?'

'When they pulled you from liaison. Not your fault, was it? We're like bloody savages at times. They should have prepared you better. Christ, Gill Templer worked liaison for a hundred years ... she should have known.'

Another silence on the. line. Holly softened his voice. 'And then they go and give it to a detective constable. DC Grant Hood. A shining example. Now there's one cocky little bastard if ever I saw one. Like I say, something like that's got to hurt. And what's happened to you, DS Wylie? You're stuck halfway up a Scottish mountain, scrabbling around for a reporter - one of the enemy - to put you right.'

He thought she'd gone, but then heard something which was almost a sigh.

Oh, you're good, Ste vie boy, he thought to himself. You'll have the right address some day, and works of art on the walls for people to gawp at ...

'Detective Sergeant Wylie?' he said.

'What?'

'Sorry if I hit a nerve. But, look, maybe we could meet. I think I might just have a way to help, even if only a little.'

'What is it?'

'Face to face?'

'No.' The voice hardening. 'Tell me now.'

'Well .. .' Holly angled his head towards the sun. 'Say this thing 283 you're working on ... it's confidential, right?' He took a breath. 'Don't answer that. We both know already. But say someone ... a journalist, for want of a better example ... got hold of this story. People would want to know how he got it, and do you know who they'd look to first?'

'Who?'

'The liaison officer, Detective Constable Grant Hood. He's the one with the line to the media. And if a certain journalist - the one in possession of the leak - happened to ... well, indicate that his source was not a thousand miles from the liaison officer . . . I'm sorry, it probably sounds petty to you. You probably don't want to see DC Hood with a bit of mud on his new starched shirt, or the flak that would head the way of DCS Templer. It's just that sometimes when I start thinking something, I need to go the whole way. Do you know what I'm saying?'

Yes.'

'We could still have that meeting. I'm free all morning. I've already told you what you need to know about Mountain Boy, but we could talk anyway...'

Rebus had been standing in front of Ellen Wylie's desk a full half- minute before she seemed to realise he was there. She was staring towards the paperwork in front of her, but Rebus didn't think she was seeing it. Then Shug Davidson wandered past, slapping Rebus on the back and saying 'Morning, John', and Wylie looked up.

'Weekend that bad, was it?' Rebus asked.

'What are you doing here?'

'Looking for you, though I'm beginning to wonder why I bothered.'

She seemed to pull herself together, ran a hand over her head and muttered something approaching an apology.

'So am I right, was it a bad weekend?'

Davidson was passing again, papers in hand. 'She was fine till ten minutes ago.' He stopped. 'Was it that wanker Holly?'

'No,' Wylie said.

'Bet it was,' Davidson stated, moving off again.

'Steve Holly?' Rebus guessed.

Wylie tapped the newspaper story. 'I had to talk to him.'

Rebus nodded. 'Just watch out for him, Ellen.'

'I can handle him, don't worry.'

He was still nodding. 'That's more like it. Now, do you 'feel like doing me a favour?'

284 'Depends what it is.'

'I got the feeling this German student thing would be driving you mental ... Is that why you came back to West End?'

'I just thought I might get more work done here.' She threw her pen down on the desk. 'Looks like I was wrong.'

'Well, I'm here to offer you a break. I've got a couple of interviews to do, and I need a partner.'

'Who are you interviewing?'

'David Costello and his father.'

'Why me?'

'I thought I'd already explained that.'

'Charity case, am I?'

Rebus let out a long breath. 'Jesus, Ellen, you can be hard work sometimes.'

She looked at her watch. 'I have a meeting at half-eleven.'

'Me too: doctor's appointment. But this won't take long.' He paused. 'Look, if you don't want to ...'

'All right,' she said. Her shoulders were slumped. 'Maybe you're right.'

Too late, Rebus was having second thoughts. It was as if the fight had gone out of her. He thought he knew the reason, but knew also that there was little he could do about it.

'Great,' he said.

Reynolds and Davidson were watching from one of the other desks. 'Look, Shug,' Reynolds said, 'it's the Dynamic Duo!'

It seemed to take all Ellen Wylie's effort to lift her from her chair.

He briefed her in the car. She didn't ask much, seemed more interested in the passing parade of pedestrians. Rebus left the Saab in hotel parking and walked into the Caledonian, Wylie a couple of steps behind.

The 'Caley' was an Edinburgh institution, a red-stone monolith at the west end of Princes Street. Rebus had no idea what a room cost. He'd eaten in the restaurant once, with his wife and a couple of friends. of hers who were honeymooning in the city. The friends had insisted on putting dinner on their room tab, so Rebus had never known the final figure. He'd been uncomfortable all evening, right in the middle of a case and wanting to get back to it. Rhona knew, too, and excluded him from the conversation by concentrating on reminiscences she shared with her friends. The honeymooners holding hands between courses, and sometimes even while they 285 ate. Rebus and Rhona almost strangers to one another, their marriage faltering...

'How the other half live,' he said to Wylie as they waited for the receptionist to call the Costellos' room. When Rebus had phoned David Costello's flat, there'd been no answer, so he'd asked around the office and been told that the parents flew into town Sunday evening, and that their son was spending the day with them.

'I don't think I've been inside before,' Wylie replied. 'It's just a hotel, after all.'

'They'd love to hear you say that.'

'Well, it's true, isn't it?'

Rebus got the feeling she wasn't thinking about what she was saying. Her mind was somewhere else, the words just filling spaces.

The receptionist smiled at them. 'Mr Costello's expecting you.' She gave them the room number and directed them towards the lifts. A liveried porter was hovering, but one look at Rebus told him there was no work for him here. As the lift glided upwards., Rebus tried to get the song 'Bell-Boy' out of his head, Keith Moon growling and wailing.

'What's that you're whistling?' Wylie asked.

'Mozart,' Rebus lied. She nodded as if she'd just placed the tune...

It wasn't a room after all, but a suite, with a connecting door to the suite next to it. Rebus caught a glimpse of Theresa Costello before her husband closed the door. The living area was compact: sofa, chair, table, ... . There was a bedroom off, and a bathroom down the hall. Rebus could smell soap and shampoo, and behind them the unaired smell you sometimes got in hotel rooms. There was a basket of fruit on the table, and David Costello, seated there, had just helped himself to an apple. He had shaved, but his hair was unwashed, lank and greasy. His grey T-shirt looked new, as did the black denims. The shoelaces on both his trainers were untied, either by accident or design.

Thomas Costello was shorter than Rebus had imagined him, a boxer's roll to his shoulders when he walked. His mauve shirt was open-necked, and his trousers were held up with pale pink braces.

'Come in, come in,' he said, 'sit yourselves down.' He gestured towards the sofa. Rebus, however, took the armchair, while Wylie stayed standing. There was nothing for the father to do but sink into the sofa himself, where he spread his arms out either side of him. But a split second later he brought his hands together in a 286 single sharp clap and exclaimed that they needed something to drink.

'Not for us, Mr Costello,' Rebus said.

You're sure now?' Costello looked to Ellen Wylie, who managed a slow nod.

'Well then.' The father once again arranged his arms either side of him. 'So what can we be doing for you?'

'I'm sorry we have to intrude at a time like this, Mr Costello.' Rebus glanced towards David, who was showing about as much interest in proceedings as Wylie.

'We quite understand, Inspector. You've got a job to do, and we all want to help you catch the sick bastard who did this to Philippa.' Costellp clenched his fists, showing he was ready to do some damage to the culprit himself. His face was almost wider than it was long, the hair cut short and brushed straight back from the forehead. The eyes were narrowed slightly, and Rebus guessed that the man wore contact lenses, and was ever fearful of them falling out.

'Well, Mr Costello, we just have some follow-up questions 'And do you mind me staying while you ask them?'

'Not at ~l. It may even be that you can help.'

'Go ahead then.' His head snapped round. 'Davey! Are you listening?'

David Costello nodded, ripping another bite from the apple.

'The stage is all yours, Inspector,' the father said.

'Well, maybe I could start by asking David a couple of things.' Rebus made a show of easing the notebook from his pocket, though he knew the questions already and didn't think he'd need to write anything down. But sometimes the presence of a notebook could work a little magic. Interviewees seemed to trust the written word: if you had something in your notebook, then it had probably been verified. Additionally, if they thought their replies were going to be recorded, they gave each utterance more consideration, or else became flustered and blurted out the truth.

You're sure you won't sit?' the father asked Wylie, patting the space on the sofa.

'I'm fine,' she answered coolly.

The exchange had somehow broken the spell; David Costello didn't look in the least bothered about the notebook.

'Fire away,' he told Rebus.

Rebus took aim and fired. 'David, we've asked you about this Internet game we think Flip might have been playing ...~ 287 Yes.'

'And you said you didn't know anything about it, and didn't go much for computer games and such-like.'

Yes.'

'But now we hear that in your schooldays you were a bit of a whizz at dungeons and dragons.'

'I remember that,' Thomas Costello interrupted. You and your pals, up there in your bedroom all day and all night.' He looked at Rebus. 'All night, Inspector, if you can believe that.'

'I've heard of grown men doing the same thing,' Rebus said. 'A few hands of poker and a big enough pot ...'

Costello conceded as much with a smile: one gambling man to another.

'Who told you I was a "whizz"?' David asked.

'It just came up.' Rebus shrugged.

'Well, I wasn't. The D and D craze lasted about a month.'

'Flip played, too, when she was at school, did you know that?'

'I'm not sure.'

'She'd have told you though... I mean, the pair of you were into it.'

'Not by the time we met. I don't think the subject ever came up. Rebus stared into David Costello's eyes. They were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

'Then how would Flip's friend Claire have got to hear of it?' The young man snorted. 'She told you? Claire the Cow?' Thomas Costello tutted.

'Well, she is,' his son snapped back. 'She was always trying to break us up, pretending she was "a friend".'

'She didn't like you?'

David considered this. 'I think it was more that she couldn't bear to see Flip happy. When I told Flip, she just laughed in my face. She couldn't see it. There was some history between her family and Claire's, and I think Flip felt guilty. Claire was a real blind spot.

'Why didn't you tell us this before?'

David looked at him and laughed. 'Because Claire didn't kill Flip.'

'No?'

'Christ, you're not saying...' He shook his head. 'I mean, when I say Claire was vicious, it was just mind games with her ... just words.' He paused. 'But then maybe that's what the game was, too: is that what you're thinking?'