‘I don’t
‘The Central? Ah, happy memories, Inspector. I used to go there as a young man. Tea dances, a very acceptable luncheon-they had an excellent kitchen in those days, you know-even once or twice to an evening ball.’
‘I’m thinking of more recent times. You were at the hotel the night it was torched.’
‘I don’t recall arson was proven.’
As usual, Vanderhyde’s memory was sharp enough when it suited him. ‘That’s true. All the same, you were there.’
‘Yes, I was. But I left several hours before the fire started. Not guilty, your honour.’
‘Why were you there in the first place?’
‘To meet a friend for a drink.’
‘A seedy place for a drink.’
‘Was it? You’ll have to remember, Inspector, I couldn’t
‘Point taken.’
‘I had my memories. To me, it was the same old Central Hotel I’d lunched in and danced in. I quite enjoyed the evening.’
‘Was the Central your choice, then?’
‘No, my friend’s.’
‘Your friend bein…?’
Vanderhyde considered. ‘No secret, I suppose. Aengus Gibson.’ Rebus sifted through the name’s connotations. ‘You don’t mean Black Aengus?’
Vanderhyde laughed, showing small blackened teeth. ‘You’d better not let him hear you calling him that these days.’
Yes, Aengus Gibson was a reformed character, that much was public knowledge. He was also, so Rebus presumed, still one of Scotland’s most eligible young men, if thirty-two could be considered young in these times. Black Aengus, after all, was sole heir to the Gibson Brewery and all that came with it.
‘Aengus Gibson,’ said Rebus.
‘The same.’
‘And this was five years ago, when he was stil…’
‘High spirited?’ Vanderhyde gave a low chuckle. ‘Oh, he deserved the name Black Aengus then, all right. The newspapers got it just right when they came up with
Rebus was thinking. ‘I didn’t see his name in the records. Your name was there, but his wasn’t.’
‘I’m sure his family saw to it that his name never appeared in any records, Inspector. It would have given the media even more fuel than they needed at the time.’
Yes, Christ, Black Aengus had been a wild one all right, so wild even the London papers took an interest. He’d looked to be spiralling out of control on ever-new excesses, but then suddenly all that stopped. He’d been rehabilitated, and was now as respectable as could be, involved in the brewing business and several prominent charities besides.
‘The leopard changed its spots, Inspector. I know you policemen are dubious about such things. Every offender is a potential repeat offender. I suppose you have to be cynical in your job, but with young Aengus the leopard really
‘Do you know why?’
Vanderhyde shrugged. ‘Maybe because of our chat.’
‘That night in the Central Hotel?’
‘His father had asked me to talk to him.’
‘You know them, then?’
‘Oh, from long ago. Aengus regarded me more as an uncle than anything else. Indeed, when I heard that the Central had been razed to the ground, I saw it as symbolic. Perhaps he did too. Of course I knew the reputation it had garnered-an altogether unsavoury reputation. When it happened to burn down that night, well, I thought of the phoenix Aengus rising cleansed from its ashes. And it turned out to be true.’ He paused. ‘Yet now here you are, Inspector, asking questions about long forgotten events.’
‘There was a body.’
‘Ah yes, never identified.’
‘A murdered body.’
‘And somehow you’ve reopened that particular investigation? Interesting.’
‘I wanted to ask you what you remembered from that night. Anyone you met, anything that seemed at all suspicious.’
Vanderhyde tilted his head to one side. ‘There were many people in the hotel that night, Inspector. You have a list of them. Yet you choose to come to a blind man?’
‘That’s right,’ said Rebus. ‘A blind man with a photographic memory.’
Vanderhyde laughed. ‘Certainly, I can giv…impressions.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Very well, Inspector. For you, I’ll do my best. I only ask one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’ve been stuck here too long. Take me out, will you?’
‘Anywhere in particular?’
Vanderhyde looked surprised that he needed to ask. ‘Why, Inspector, to the Central Hotel, of course!’
‘Well,’ said Rebus, ‘this is where it used to stand. You’re facing it now.’ He could feel the stares of passers- by. Princes Street was lunchtime busy, office workers trying to make the most of their limited time. A few looked genuinely annoyed at having to manoeuvre past two people
‘And what has it become, Inspector?’
‘A burger joint.’
Vanderhyde nodded. ‘I thought I could smell meat. Franchised, doubtless, from some American corporation. Princes Street has seen better days, Inspector. Did you know that when Scottish Sword and Shield was started up, they used to meet in the. Central’s ballroom? Dozens and dozens of people, all vowing to restore Dalriada to its former glory.’
Rebus remained silent.
‘You don’t recall Sword and Shield?’
‘It must have been before my time.’
‘Now that I think of it, it probably was. This was in the 1950s, an offshoot of the National Party. I attended a couple of the meetings myself. There would be some furious call to arms, followed by tea and scones. It didn’t last long. Broderick Gibson was the president one year.’
‘Aengus’s father?’
‘Yes.’ Vanderhyde was remembering. ‘There used to be a pub near here, famous for politics and poetry. A few of us went there after the meetings.’
‘I thought you said you only went to two?’
‘Perhaps a few more than two.’
Rebus grinned. If he looked into it, he knew he would probably find that a certain M. Vanderhyde had been president of Sword and Shield at some time.
‘It was a fine pub,’ Vanderhyde reminisced. ‘In its day,’ said Rebus.
Vanderhyde sighed. ‘Edinburgh, Inspector. Turn your back and they change the name of a pub or the purpose of a shop.’ He pointed behind him with his stick, nearly tripping someone up in the process. ‘They can’t change that though.
‘Maybe we should go sit across the road,’ he suggested. Vanderhyde nodded, so they crossed at the traffic lights to the quieter side of the street. There were benches here, their backs to the gardens, each dedicated to
