A junkie lies dead in an English squat - spreadeagled, cross-like on the floor between two burned-down candles, a five-pointed star daubed on the wall above Just another dead addict, until John Rebus begins to chip away at the indifference, treachery, deceit and sleaze that lurks behind the facade of the Edinburgh familiar to the tourists Only Rebus seems to care about a death which looks more like murder every day