‘Braided hair.’ Minchell was writing it down. ‘Can do.’

‘If so, I’d like her name, and an address if possible.’ Rebus thought of something else. ‘When the protesters came to your headquarters, you had them videoed, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Could you find out? It would be security, wouldn’t it?’

‘Do I still have twenty minutes for all this?’

Rebus smiled. ‘No, sir. Let’s make it half an hour.’

Rebus put down the phone and drained his tea.

‘How about another phone call now?’ Jack asked.

‘Who to?’

‘Chick Ancram.’

‘Jack, look at me.’ Rebus pointed to his face. ‘Could a man this ill possibly pick up the telephone?’

‘You’ll swing.’

‘Like a pendulum do.’

Rebus gave Stuart Minchell forty minutes.

‘You know, Inspector, you make working for the Major seem like a picnic by comparison.’

‘Glad to be of service, sir. What have you got?’

‘Just about everything.’ A rustle of paper. ‘No, the protesters weren’t arrested.’

‘Isn’t that a bit generous, under the circumstances?’

‘It would only have generated more bad publicity.’

‘Something you don’t need right now?’

‘The company did get names out of the protesters, but they were false. At least, I’m assuming Yuri Gagarin and Judy Garland are aliases.’

‘Sound reasoning.’ Judy Garland: Braid-Hair. Interesting choice.

‘So they were detained, given something hot to drink, and flown back to the mainland.’

‘Very decent of T-Bird.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’

‘And the video recording?’

‘That was, as you guessed, our security staff. Precautionary, I’m told. If there’s trouble, we have physical evidence.’

‘They don’t use the film to identify the protesters?’

‘We’re not the CIA, Inspector. We’re an oil company.’

‘Sorry, sir, go on.’

‘Willie Ford says he knew Mitch had been seeing someone in Aberdeen – past tense. But they never discussed her. Mitch was – quote – “a dark horse on the question of his love life” – unquote.’

Dead ends everywhere.

‘Is that everything?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Well, thank you, sir, I really appreciate this.’

‘My pleasure, Inspector. But next time you want a favour, try not to make it on a day when I’m due to sack a dozen of our workforce.’

‘Hard times, Mr Minchell?’

‘A book by Dickens, Inspector Rebus. Goodbye.’

Jack was laughing. ‘Good line,’ he said approvingly.

‘So it should be,’ Rebus said, ‘he was less than a mile away.’ He walked over to the window, watched another plane taking off in the near-distance, the roar of its jets fading as it headed north.

‘Had enough for one morning?’

Rebus didn’t say anything. He’d been expecting Eve to call. There was that favour. He wondered if she’d do it. She owed him, but crossing Judd Fuller didn’t sound like the wisest move on the dance floor. She’d been dancing her own little steps for years: why trip up now?

Jack repeated his question.

‘One option left,’ Rebus said, turning to face him.

‘What’s that?’

‘Flight.’

At Dyce Airport, Rebus showed his warrant card and asked if there were any flights out to Sullom Voe.