Colquhoun translated, glancing at his watch.

`Does the name Newcastle mean anything to her?’

Claverhouse asked.

Colquhoun tried the name. `I've explained to her that it's a town in England, built on a river.’

`Don't forget the bridges,' Rebus said.

Colquhoun added a few words, but Candice only shrugged. She looked upset that she was failing them. Rebus gave her another smile.

`What about the man she worked for?’

Claverhouse asked. `The one before she came to Edinburgh.’

She seemed to have plenty to say about this, and kept touching her face with her fingers while she talked. Colquhoun nodded, made her stop from time to time so he could translate.

`A big man… fat. He was the boss. Something about his skin… a birthmark maybe, certainly something distinctive. And glasses, like sunglasses but not quite.’

Rebus saw Claverhouse and Ormiston exchange another look. It was all too vague to be much use. Colquhoun checked his watch again. `And cars, a lot of cars. This man crashed them.’

`Maybe he got a scar on his face,' Ormiston offered.

`Glasses and a scar aren't going to get us very far,' Claverhouse added.

`Gentlemen,' Colquhoun said, while Candice looked towards Rebus, `I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave.’

`Any chance of coming back in later, sir?’ Claverhouse asked.

`You mean today?’

`I thought maybe this evening…?’

'Look, I do have other commitments.’

`We appreciate that, sir. Meantime, DC Ormiston will run you back into town.’

`My pleasure,' Ormiston said, all charm. They needed Colquhoun, after all. They had to keep him sweet.

`One thing,' Colquhoun said. `There's a refugee family in Fife. From Sarajevo. They'd probably take her in. I could ask.’

`Thank you, sir,' Claverhouse said. `Maybe later on, eh?’

Colquhoun seemed disappointed as Ormiston led him away.

Rebus walked over to Claverhouse, who was shuffling his photos together.

`Bit of an oddball,' Claverhouse commented.

`Not used to the real world.’

`Not much help either.’

Rebus looked towards Candice. `Mind if I take her out?’

`What?’

`Just for an hour.’

Claverhouse stared at him.

`She's been cooped up here, and only her hotel room to look forward to. I'll drop her back there in an hour, hour and a half.’

`Bring her back in one piece, preferably with a smile on her face.’

Rebus motioned for Candice to join him.

`Japanese and golf courses,' Claverhouse mused. `What do you think?’

` Telford 's a businessman, we know that. Businessmen do deals with other businessmen.’

`He runs bouncers and slot machines: what's the Japanese Connection?’

Rebus shrugged. `I leave the hard questions to the likes of you.’

He opened the door.

`And, John?’

Claverhouse warned, nodding towards Candice. `she's Crime Squad property, okay? And remember, you came to us.’

'No bother, Claverhouse. And by the way, I'm your B Division liaison.’

'Since when?’

`With immediate effect. If you don't believe me, ask your boss. This might be your case, but Telford works out of my territory.’

He took Candice by the arm and marched her from the room.

He stopped the car on the corner of Flint Street.

`It's okay, Candice,' he said, seeing her agitation. `We're staying in the car. Everything's all right.’

Her eyes were darting around, looking for faces she didn't want to see. Rebus started the car again and drove off. `Look,' he told her, `we're leaving.’

Knowing she couldn't understand. `I'm guessing this is where you started from that day.’

He looked at her. `The day you went to Juniper Green. The Japanese would be staying in a central hotel, somewhere pricey. You picked them up, then headed east. Along Dalry Road maybe?’

He was speaking for his own benefit. `Christ, I don't know. Look, Candice, anything you see, anything that looks familiar, just let me know, okay?’

`Okay.’

Had she understood? No, she was smiling. All she'd heard was that final word. All she knew was that they were heading away from Flint Street. He took her down on to Princes Street first.

`Was it a hotel here, Candice? The Japanese? Was it here?’

She gazed from the window with a blank look.

He headed up Lothian Road. `Usher Hall,' he said. `Sheraton… Any of it ring a bell?’

Nothing did. Out along the Western Approach Road, Slateford Road, and on to Lanark Road. Most of the lights were against them, giving her plenty of time to study the buildings. Each newsagent's they passed, Rebus pointed it out, just in case the convoy had paused there to buy cigarettes. Soon they were out of town and entering juniper Green.

`Juniper Green!' she said, pointing at the signpost, delighted to have something to show him. Rebus attempted a smile. There were plenty of golf courses around the city. He couldn't hope to take her to every one of them, not in a week never mind an hour. He stopped for a few moments by the side of a field. Candice got out, so he followed, lit a cigarette. There were two stone gateposts next to the road, but no sign of a gate between them, or any sort of path behind them. Once there might have been a track, and a house at the end of it. Atop one of the pillars sat the badly worn representation of a bull. Candice pointed towards the ground behind the other pillar, where another lump of carved stone lay, half-covered by weeds and grass.

`Looks like a serpent,' Rebus said. `Maybe a dragon.’ He looked at her. `It'll all mean something to somebody.’

She looked back at him blankly. He saw Sammy's features, reminded himself that he wanted to help her. He was in danger of letting that slip, of focusing on how she might help them get to Telford.

Back in the car, he branched off towards Livingston, intending to head for Ratho and from there back into town. Then he noticed that Candice had turned to look out of the back window.

`What 1S It?’

She came out with a stream of words, her tone uncertain. Rebus turned the car anyway, and drove slowly back the way they'd just come. He stopped at the side of the road, opposite a low dry-stone wall, beyond which lay the undulations of a golf course.

`Recognise it?’

She mumbled more words. Rebus pointed. `Here? Yes?’

She turned to him, said something which sounded apologetic.

`It's okay,' he told her. `Let's take a closer look anyway.’

He drove to where a vast iron double-gate stood open. A sign to one side read POYNTINGHAME GOLF AND COUNTRY CLUB. Beneath it: `Bar Lunches and A La Carte, Visitors Welcome'. As Rebus drove through the gates, Candice started nodding again, and when an oversized Georgian house came into view she almost bounced in her seat, slapping her hands against her thighs.

`I think I get the picture,' Rebus said.

He parked outside the main entrance, squeezing between a Volvo estate and a low-slung Toyota. Out on the course, three men were finishing their round. As the final putt went in, hands went to wallets and money changed hands.

Two things Rebus knew about golf: one, to some people it was a religion; two, a lot of players liked a bet. They'd bet on final tally, each hole, even every shot if they could.

And didn't the Japanese have a passion for gambling? He took Candice's arm as he escorted her into the main building. Piano music from the bar. Panatella smoke and oakpanelling. Huge portraits of self-important unknowns. A few old wooden putters, framed behind glass. A poster advertised a Halloween dinner-dance for that evening. Rebus walked up to reception, explained who he was and what he wanted. The receptionist made a phone call, then led them to the Chief Executive's office.

Hugh Malahide, bald and thin, mid-forties, already had a slight stammer, which intensified when Rebus asked his first question. By throwing it back at the questioner, he seemed to be playing for time.