Scene of Crime officers were busying themselves, filling the locus with noise and movement. Rebus gestured for Hogan to walk with him. They were deep in the cemetery, the part Lintz had loved so much. As they walked, the place grew wilder, more overgrown.
`I was here with him yesterday morning,' Rebus said. `I don't know if he had a routine exactly, but he came here most days.’
`We found a bag of gardening tools.’
`He planted flowers.’
`So if someone knew he'd be coming, they could have been waiting?’
Rebus nodded. `An assassination.’
Hogan was thoughtful. `Why hang him?’
`It's what happened at Villefranche. The town elders were strung up in the square.’
`Jesus.’
Hogan stopped walking. `I know you've got other stuff on the go, but can you help out on this, John?’
`Any way I can.’
`A list of possibles would do for a start.’
`How about an old woman living in France, and a Jewish historian who walks with a stick?’
`Is that all you've got?’
`Well, there's always me. Yesterday I as good as accused him of trying to kill my daughter.’ Hogan stared at him. `I don't think he did it.’
Rebus paused, thinking of Sammy: he'd called the hospital first thing. She was still unconscious; they still weren't using the word `coma'. `One more thing,' he said. `Special Branch, a guy called Abernethy. He was here talking to Lintz.’
`What's the connection?’
'Abernethy's co-ordinating the various war crimes investigations. He's street-tough, not your typical desk-jockey.’
`A strange choice for the job?’
Rebus nodded. `Which hardly makes him a suspect.’
`I'm doing my best, Bobby. We could check Lintz's house, see if we can turn up any of the hate mail he claimed he'd been getting.’
"`Claimed"?’
Rebus shrugged. `You were never sure where you were with Lintz. Do you have any idea what happened?’
`From what you've told me, I'd guess he came down here as usual to do his gardening stint – he's certainly dressed for it. Someone was waiting. They smacked him over the head, stuck his neck in a noose, and hauled him up into the tree. The rope was tied around a headstone.’
`Did the hanging kill him?’
`Doctor says yes. Haemorrhages in the eyes. What do you call them?’
`Tardieu spots.’
`That's it. The blow to the head was just to knock him out. Something else – bruising and cuts on the face. Looks like someone kicked him when he was down.’
`Knock him cold, thump him in the face, then string him up.’
`Big-time grudge.’
Rebus looked around. `Someone with a flair for theatre.’
`And not afraid to take risks. This place might never get exactly crowded, but it's a public space and that tree's in open view. Anyone could have walked past.’
`What time are we talking about?’
`Eight, eight-thirty. I'm guessing Mr Lintz would have wanted to do his digging in daylight.’
`Could have been earlier,' Rebus suggested. `A pre-arranged meeting.’
`Then why the tools?’
`Because by the time it got light, the meeting would be over.’
Hogan looked doubtful.
`And if it was a meeting,' Rebus said, `there might be some record of it at Lintz's home.’
Hogan looked at him, nodded. `My car or yours?’
`Better get his keys first.’
They started back up the slope.
`Searching through a dead man's pockets,' Hogan said to himself. `Why is that never mentioned during recruitment?’
`I was here yesterday,' Rebus said. `He invited me back for tea.’
`No family?’
`None.’
Hogan looked around the hallway. `Big place. What happens to the money when it's sold?’
Rebus looked at him. `We could split it two ways.’
`Or we could just move ourselves in. Basement and ground for me, you can have first and second.’
Hogan smiled, tried one of the doors off the hall. It opened on to an office. `This could be my bedroom,' he said, going in.
`When I came here before, he always took me upstairs.’
`On you go. We'll take a floor each, then swop.’
Rebus headed up the staircase, running his hand over the varnished banister: not a speck of dust. Cleaning ladies could be invaluable informants.
`If you find a chequebook,' he called down to Hogan, `look for regular payments to a Mrs Mop.’
Four doors led off the first-floor landing. Two were bedrooms, one a bathroom. The last door led into the huge drawingroom, where Rebus had asked his questions and listened to the stories and philosophy that Lintz had used in place of answers.
`Do you think guilt has a genetic component, Inspector?’ he'd asked one time. `Or are we taught it?’
`Does it matter, so long as it's there?’
Rebus had said, and Lintz had nodded and smiled, as if the pupil had given some satisfactory answer.
The room was big, not too much furniture. Huge sash windows recently cleaned – looked down on to the street. There were framed prints and paintings on the walls. They could have been priceless originals or junk-store stuff – Rebus was no expert. He liked one painting. It showed a ragged white-haired man seated on a rock, surrounded by a barren plain. He had a book open on his lap, but was staring skywards in horror or awe as a shining light appeared there, picking him out. It had a Biblical look, but Rebus couldn't quite place it. He knew the look on the man's face though. He'd seen it before when some suspect's carefully crafted alibi had suddenly come tumbling down.
Over the marble fireplace was a large gilt-framed mirror. Rebus studied himself in it. Behind him he could see the room. He knew he didn't fit here.
One bedroom was for guests, the other was Lintz's. A faint smell of embrocation, half a dozen medicine bottles on the bedside table. Books, too, a pile of them. The bed had been made, a dressing-gown draped across it. Lintz was a creature of habit; he'd been in no special hurry this morning.
The next floor up, Rebus found two further bedrooms and a toilet. There was a slight smell of damp in one room, and the ceiling was discoloured. Rebus didn't suppose Lintz got many visitors; no impetus to redecorate. Out on the landing again, he saw that one of the stair-rails was missing. It had been propped against the wall, awaiting repair. A house this size, things would always be going wrong.
He went back downstairs. Hogan was in the basement. The kitchen had a door on to a back garden – stone patio, lawn covered in rotting leaves, an ivy-covered wall giving privacy.
`Look what I found,' Hogan said, coming back from the utility room. He was holding a length of rope, frayed at one end where it had been cut.
`You think it'll match with the noose? That would mean the killer got it from here.’
`Meaning Lintz knew them.’
`Anything in the office?’
`It's going to take a bit of time. There's an address book, lots of entries, but most of them seem to go back a while.’
`How can you tell?’
`Old STD codes.’
`Computer?’
`Not even a typewriter. He used carbons. Lots of letters to his solicitor.’
`Trying to shut the media up?’
`You get a couple of mentions, too. Anything upstairs?’
`Go take a look. I'll check the office.’
Rebus climbed upstairs and stood in the office doorway, looking around. Then he sat down at the desk and imagined the room was his. What did he do here? He conducted his daily business. There were two filing-cabinets, but to get to them he'd have to stand up from the desk. And he was an old man. Say the cabinets were for dead correspondence. More recent stuff would be closer to hand.
He tried the drawers. Found the address book Hogan had mentioned. A few letters. A small snuff-box, its contents turned solid. Lintz hadn't even allowed himself that small vice. In a bottom drawer were some files. Rebus lifted out the one marked `General/ Household'. It comprised bills and guarantees. A large brown envelope was marked BT. Rebus opened it and took out the phone bills. They went back to the beginning of the year. The most recent bill was at the front. Rebus was disappointed to find that it wasn't itemised. Then he noticed that all the other statements were. Lintz had been meticulous, placing names beside calls made, doublechecking British Telecom's totals at the foot of each page. The whole year was like that… right up until recently. Frowning, Rebus realised that the penultimate statement was missing. Had Lintz mislaid it? Rebus couldn't see him mislaying anything. A missing bill would have hinted at chaos in his ordered world. No, it had to be somewhere.