They’d reached the roundabout outside The Hub. The right fork led to the Castle, but they took the left.
‘Where are we going?’ Siobhan asked.
‘I’ll take a left along West Port. With any luck we’ll find a space in the Grassmarket.’
‘And I bet you’ll put money in the meter, too.’
‘Unless you want the honour.’
She snorted. ‘I walk on the wild side, kid,’ she said.
They found a parking bay, and Grant dropped a couple of coins into the machine, peeling back the ticket and sticking it to the inside of his windscreen.
‘Half an hour long enough?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘Depends what we find.’
They walked past the Last Drop pub, named for the fact that criminals had swung from Grassmarket’s scaffold at one time in the city’s history. Victoria Street was a steep curve back up to George IV Bridge, lined with bars and gift shops. On the far side of the street, pubs and clubs seemed to predominate. One place doubled as a Cuban bar and restaurant.
‘What do you reckon?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Not too many statues, I wouldn’t have thought, unless there’s one of Castro.’
They walked the length of the street, then doubled back. Three restaurants this side, along with a cheesemonger and a shop selling nothing but brushes and string. Pierre Victoire was the first stop. Peering through the window, Siobhan could see that it was a fairly empty space with little in the way of decoration. They went in anyway, not bothering to introduce themselves. Ten seconds later they were back on the pavement.
‘One down, two to go,’ Grant said. He didn’t sound hopeful.
Next was a place called the Grain Store, through a doorway and up a flight of stairs. The place was being readied for lunchtime trade. There were no statues.
As they descended to the street, Siobhan repeated the clue. ‘“This queen dines well before the bust.”’ She shook her head slowly. ‘Maybe we’ve got it wrong.’
‘Then the only thing we can do is send another e-mail, appeal to Quizmaster for help.’
‘I don’t think he’s the type.’
Grant shrugged. ‘Next stop, can we at least have a coffee? I skipped breakfast this morning.’
Siobhan tutted. ‘What would your mum say?’
‘She’d say I slept in. Then I’d tell her it’s because I was up half the night trying to solve this bloody puzzle.’ He paused. ‘And that someone had promised me breakfast would be on them...’
Restaurant Bleu was their final call. It promised ‘world cuisine’ but had a traditional feel as they walked through the door: old varnished wood, the small window doing little to illuminate the cramped interior. Siobhan looked around, but there wasn’t so much as a vase of flowers.
She turned to Grant, who pointed towards a winding staircase. ‘There’s an upstairs.’
‘Can I help?’ the assistant said.
‘In a minute,’ Grant assured her. He followed Siobhan up the stairs. One small room led to another. As Siobhan entered this second chamber, she gave a sigh. Grant, following her, thought the worst. Then he heard her say, ‘Bingo,’ in the same instant as he saw the bust. It was Queen Victoria, two and a half feet high, in black marble.
‘Bloody hell,’ he said, grinning. ‘We cracked it!’
He looked ready to hug her, but she moved away towards the bust. It sat on a low plinth, pillars either side and sandwiched by tables. Siobhan looked all around, but couldn’t see anything.
‘I’ll tip it,’ Grant said. He took hold of Victoria by her head-dress and eased her from the plinth.
‘Excuse me,’ a voice said behind them. ‘Is something the matter?’
Siobhan slid her hand under the bust and drew out a folded sheet of paper. She beamed at Grant, who turned towards the waitress.
‘Two teas, please,’ he instructed her.
‘And two sugars in his,’ Siobhan added.
They sat down at the nearest table. Siobhan held the note by one corner. ‘Think we’d get any prints?’ she asked.
‘Worth a try.’
She got up and walked over to a cutlery tray in the corner, came back with a knife and fork. The waitress nearly dropped their crockery when she saw the customer attempting, as she thought, to dine on a sheet of paper.
Grant took the cups from the waitress and thanked her. Then he turned back to Siobhan. ‘What does it say?’
But Siobhan looked up at the waitress. ‘We found this under there,’ she said, pointing to the bust. The waitress nodded. ‘Any idea how it could have got there?’ The waitress shook her head. She had the look of a small, frightened animal. Grant sought to reassure her.
‘We’re the police,’ he said.
‘Any chance of talking to the manager?’ Siobhan added.
When the waitress had retreated, Grant repeated his earlier question.
‘See for yourself,’ Siobhan said, using the knife and fork to turn the sheet of paper in his direction.
B4 Scots Law sounds dear.
‘Is that it?’ he said.
‘Your eyes are as good as mine.’
He reached up to scratch his head. ‘Not much to go on, is it?’
‘We didn’t have much to go on last time.’
‘We had more than this.’
She watched him stir sugar into his tea. ‘If Quizmaster placed this clue here...’
‘He’s a local?’ Grant guessed
‘Either that or someone local is helping him.’
‘He knows this restaurant,’ Grant said, looking around. ‘Not everyone who ventures in would bother coming upstairs.’
‘You think he might be a regular?’
Grant shrugged. ‘Look at what’s nearby, on George IV Bridge. The Central Library and the National Library. Academics and bookworms are great ones for puzzles.’
‘That’s a good point. The Museum’s not far away either.’
‘And the law courts... and the parliament...’ He smiled. ‘Just for a second there I thought we might be narrowing things down.’
‘Maybe we are,’ she said, lifting her cup as though to make a toast. ‘Here’s to us anyway for solving the first clue.’
‘How many more till we get to Hellbank?’
Siobhan grew thoughtful. ‘That’s up to Quizmaster, I suppose. He told me it was the fourth stage. I’ll send an e-mail when we get back, just to let him know.’ She placed the sheet of paper in an evidence bag. Grant was studying the clue again. ‘First thoughts?’ she asked.
‘I was remembering a bit of graffiti from primary school. It was in the boys’ toilets.’ He wrote it down on the paper serviette.
LOLO
AQIC
I82Q
B4IP
Siobhan read it aloud and smiled. ‘Be-fore I pee,’ she repeated. ‘You think maybe that’s what B4 means?’
He shrugged. ‘Could be part of an address.’
‘Or a coordinate...?’
He looked at her. ‘From a map?’
‘But which one?’
‘Maybe that’s what the rest of the clue tells us. How’s your Scots Law?’
‘The exams were a while back.’
‘Ditto. Is there some Latin word for “dear”, maybe something to do with the law?’
‘There’s always the library,’ she suggested. ‘With a big bookshop just past it.’
He checked his watch. ‘I’ll go put more money in the meter,’ he said.
Rebus was at his desk, five sheets of paper spread out in front of him. He’d shifted everything else on to the floor: files, memos, the lot. The office was quiet: most of the shift had headed to Gayfield Square for a briefing. They wouldn’t thank him for the obstacle course he’d constructed in their absence. His computer monitor and keyboard now sat in the centre aisle between the rows of desks, just next to his multi-tiered in-tray.