‘I did tell the ACC it was a big ask.’

‘Does she want the case shut down?’

‘She wants what’s best for Police Scotland.’

‘Fewer column inches, you mean.’ Colour was creeping up Clarke’s neck. ‘Tell her I’ll send her the photos of Cheryl Haggard’s injuries. The photos and Cheryl’s statement. I’ll do it first thing.’

‘She knows the details of the case, Siobhan.’

Clarke was signalling for Fox to stand up. She was already at the doorway. ‘You can tell Lyon we spoke. But as long as I’m on this case, it is a case. And it will go to trial, I promise you that.’

‘You’re very confident. I’ve always admired that side of you. Other sides … maybe not so much.’

‘Enjoy your shiny fucking car, Malcolm.’

She led him to the door, slamming it shut after him. Back in her chair, she called Christine Esson, but got no answer. Flicking through her list of contacts, she found a number for Gina Hendry and sent her a text: I’m attached to the Haggard case. Want to speak to Cheryl. You okay to liaise? Would love to catch up anyway. It’s been a while. S

In the kitchen, she put the kettle on. A bottle of Edinburgh Gin, half full, stared at her from the worktop.

‘Not tonight, Satan,’ she cautioned it, reaching instead for the tea bags and a mug.

Day Two

3

Rebus was up before it got light, the usual full bladder to blame. Brillo looked keen, so they headed out to the Meadows. Rebus took a small hard rubber ball for the mutt to chase, though he’d drawn the line at those fling-and-fetch things most dog-walkers used. Instead, he scuffed the ball along the ground with the toe of his shoe, meaning Brillo never had to go very far to retrieve it.

After breakfast, he stayed at the table, looking over his notes from the previous night’s internet search. He hadn’t uncovered much. Jack Oram’s disappearance had been flagged up in a few editions of Edinburgh’s evening paper. His family had put together a Missing poster, which had found its way into one of the stories. Rebus had printed it off, along with a smaller picture of Oram on his wedding day. His wife’s name was Ishbel. Rebus had a stack of old telephone directories in the cupboard and consulted one of them. According to the newspaper, the family home had been in Craigmillar, and this was confirmed by the directory. Would the phone number still be the same? He tried it but got the constant tone telling him no such number existed. Stood to reason – he’d almost ditched his own landline when he’d moved flats a couple of years back. If Siobhan Clarke had had her way, he’d have ditched the phone directories too.