It was ten o'clock, not long dark; that was the beauty of a Scottish summer. He tried to imagine himself on a deserted beach, or crouched atop a mountain, alone with his thoughts. Who was he trying to kid? John Rebus was always alone with his thoughts. And just now he was thinking of drink. Another hour or two and the bars would sluice themselves out, unless they'd applied for (and been granted) the very late licences available at Festival time.

He was heading for the City Chambers, across the street from St Giles' Cathedral. You turned off the High Street and through one of two stone arches into a small parking area in front of the Chambers themselves. A uniformed constable was standing guard beneath one of the arches. He recognised Rebus and nodded, stepping out of the way. Rebus parked his own car beside a marked patrol car, stopped the engine and got out.

`Evening, sir.’

`Where is it?’

The constable nodded towards a door near one of the arches, attached to the side wall of the Chambers. They walked towards it. A young woman was standing next to the door.

'Inspector,' she said.

'Hello, Mairie.’

`I've told her to move on, sir,' the constable apologised.`

Mairie Henderson ignored him. Her eyes were on Rebus's 'What's going on?’

'Rebus winked at her. 'The Lodge, Mairie. We all meet in secret, like.’

She scowled. 'Well then, give me a chance. Off to a show, are you?’

'I was till I saw the commotion.’

'Saturday's your day off, isn't it?’

'Journalists don't get days off, Inspector. What's behind the door?’

'It's got glass panels, Mairie. Take a peek for yourself.’

But all you could see through the panels was a narrow landing with doors off. One door was open, allowing a glimpse of stairs leading down. Rebus turned to the constable.

`Let's get a proper cordon set up, son. Something across the arches to fend off the tourists before the show starts. Radio in for assistance if you need it. Excuse me, Mairie.’