two addresses have phone numbers with them, but not the most recent. I checked, and Colquhoun's only been at this latest address three years.’
`So?’
`So Lintz didn't have his home phone number. So if he wanted to speak to him…’
Rebus twigged. `He'd phone the university.’
The call on Lintz's bill: twenty-odd minutes. Rebus was remembering what Colquhoun had said about Lintz.
I met him at a few social functions… our departments weren't that close… As I say, me weren't close…
`They weren't in the same department,' Rebus said. 'Colquhoun told me they'd barely met…’
`So how come Lintz has been keeping up with Colquhoun's various moves around the city?’
`Beats me, Bobby. Have you asked him?’
`No, but I intend to.’
`He's lying low. I've been trying to talk to him for a week.’
Last seen at the Morvena: did Colquhoun link Telford to Lintz? `Well, he's back now.’
`What?’
`I've an appointment with him at his office.’
`Count me in,' Rebus said, getting to his feet.
As Rebus parked in Buccleuch Place – he was in an unmarked Astra, courtesy of St Leonard's – he saw the car in the neighbouring bay make to leave. He waved, but Kirstin Mede didn't see him, and by the time he'd found the horn, she'd pulled away. He wondered how well she knew Colquhoun. After all, she'd been the one to suggest him as a translator…
Hogan, standing by the railings, had seen Rebus's attempts at communication.
`Someone you know?’
'Kirstin Mede.’
Hogan placed the name. `The one who did those translations?’
Rebus looked up at the Slavic Studies building. `Have you tracked down David Levy?’
`Daughter still hasn't heard from him.’
`How long has that been?’
`Long enough to seem suspicious in itself, only she doesn't seem too bothered.’
`How do you want to play this?’
Rebus asked.
`Depends what he's like.’
`You ask your questions. Me, I just want to be there.’
Hogan looked at him, then shrugged and pushed open the door. They started to climb the worn stone steps. `Hope they haven't put him in the penthouse.’
Colquhoun's name was on a piece of card stuck to a door on the second floor. They pushed it open, and were confronted with a short hallway and another five or six doors. Colquhoun's office was first on the right, and he was already standing in the doorway.
`Thought I heard you. Sound carries in this place. Come in, come in.’
He wasn't expecting Hogan to have company. His words dried up when he saw Rebus. He walked back into his office, motioned for both officers to sit, then fussed about moving their chairs around so they'd be facing his desk.
`Terrible muddle,' he said, kicking over a pile of books.
`Know the feeling, sir,' Hogan said.
Colquhoun peered in Rebus's direction. `My secretary says you used the library.’
`Filling in some of the gaps, sir.’
Rebus kept his voice level.
`Yes, Candice…’
Colquhoun was thoughtful. `Is she…? I mean, did she…?’
`But today, sir,' Hogan interrupted, `we want to talk to you about Joseph Lintz.’
Colquhoun sat down heavily in his wooden chair, which creaked under the weight. Then he sprang to his feet again. `Tea, coffee? You must excuse the mess. Not normally this disorganised…’
`Not for us, sir,' Hogan said. `If you'd just take a seat?’
`Of course, of course.’
Again, Colquhoun collapsed on to his chair.
`Joseph Lintz, sir,' Hogan prompted.
`Terrible tragedy… terrible. They think it's murder, you know.’
`Yes, sir, we do know.’
`Of course you do. Apologies.’
The desk in front of Colquhoun was venerable and spotted with woodworm. The shelves were bowed under the weight of textbooks. There were old framed prints on the walls, and a blackboard with the single word CHARACTER on it. University paperwork was piled on the window ledge, all but blacking out the bottom two panes. The smell in the room was that of intellect gone awry.
`It's just that Mr Lintz had your name in his address book, sir,' Hogan continued. `And we're talking to all his friends.’
`Friends?’
Colquhoun looked up. `I wouldn't call us 'friends' exactly. We were colleagues, but I don't think I met him socially more than three or four times in twenty-odd years.’
`Funny, he seems to have taken an interest in you, sir.’
Hogan flipped open his notebook. `Starting with your address in Warrender Park Terrace.’
`I haven't lived there since the seventies.’
`He also has your telephone number there. After that, it's Currie.’
`I thought I was ready for the rural life…’
`In Currie?’
Hogan sounded sceptical.
Colquhoun tipped his head. `I eventually realised my mistake.’
`And moved to Duddingston.’
`Not at first. I rented a few properties while I was looking for a place to buy.’
`Mr Lintz has your telephone number in Currie, but not for the Duddingston address.’
`Interesting. I went ex-directory when I moved.’
`Any reason for that, sir?’
Colquhoun swayed in his chair. `Well, I'm sure it sounds awful…’
`Try us.’
`I didn't want students bothering me.’
`Did they do that?’
`Oh, yes, phoning to ask questions, advice. Worried about exams or wanting deadlines extended.’
`Do you remember giving Mr Lintz your address, sir?’
`No, I don't.’
`You're sure of that?’
`Yes, but it wouldn't have been hard for him to find out. I mean, he could just have asked one of the secretaries.’
Colquhoun was beginning to look more agitated than ever. The little chair could barely contain him.
`Sir,' Hogan said, `is there anything you want to tell us about Mr Lintz, anything at all?’
Colquhoun just shook his head, staring at the surface of his desk.
Rebus decided to use their joker. `Mr Lintz made a phone call to this office. He was talking for over twenty minutes.’
`That's… simply not true.’
Colquhoun mopped his face with a handkerchief. `Look, gentlemen, I'd like to help, but the fact is, I barely knew Joseph Lintz.’
