The Black Book by Ian Rankin Page A

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 give … 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 daring to stand still on the pavement! But most could see that one man was blind, the other his helper in some way, so they found charity in their souls and didn’t complain.
    ‘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. That’s Edinburgh too.’ The stick was wavering in the direction of the Castle Rock. It rapped someone against their leg. Rebus tried to smile an apology, the victim being a woman.
    ‘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 someone’s memory. Vanderhyde got Rebus to read the plaque on their bench.
    ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t recognise either of those names.’
    ‘Mr Vanderhyde,’ said Rebus, ‘I’m beginning to suspect you got me to bring you here for no other reason than the outing itself.’ Vanderhyde smiled but said nothing. ‘What time did you go to the bar that night?’
    ‘Seven sharp, that was the arrangement. Of course, Aengus being Aengus, he was late. I think he turned up at half past, by which time I was seated in a corner with a whisky and water. I think it was J and B whisky.’ He seemed pleased by this small feat of memory.
    ‘Anyone you knew in the bar?’
    ‘I can hear bagpipes,’ Vanderhyde said.
    Rebus could too, though he couldn’t see the piper. ‘They play for the tourists,’ he explained. ‘It can be a big earner in the summer.’
    ‘He’s not very good. I should imagine he’s wearing a kilt but