‘Who was the other person?’

‘Chamber of Commerce, she said.’ They were quiet for a moment.

‘And Davidson fits with Robert Gordon’s?’

‘He hosted some seminars earlier this year. His name was down on the staff roll.’

A solid connection. Rebus could feel it like a punch. His knuckles were white on the receiver.

‘There’s more,’ Siobhan said. ‘You know how businesses sometimes stay faithful to one hotel chain? Well, the Fairmount has a sister establishment here. Martin Davidson of LancerTech was in town the night Angie Riddell was killed.’

Rebus saw her picture again: Angie. Hoped she was getting ready to rest.

‘Siobhan, you’re a genius. Have you told anyone else?’

‘You’re the first. After all, you gave me the tip.’

‘I gave you a hunch, that’s all. It might not have paid off. This is down to you. Now take it to Gill Templer – she’s your boss – tell her what you’ve just told me, let her pass it on to the Johnny Bible team. Stick to procedure.’

‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

‘Pass the news along, and make sure you get the credit. Then we’ll wait and see. All right?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He put down the receiver, told Jack what she’d just told him. Then they just stood there, drinking their drinks, staring at the mirror behind the bar. Calmly at first, then with more agitation. Rebus was the first to say what they both knew.

‘We need to be there, Jack. I need to be there.’

Jack looked at him, nodded. ‘Your turn to drive or mine?’

33

British Telecom had listings for two Martin Davidsons in Aberdeen. But Friday afternoon, he was most likely still at work.

‘Doesn’t mean we’ll find him at Altens,’ Jack said.

‘Let’s go there anyway.’ Practically Rebus’s only thought the whole drive: he needed to see Martin Davidson, not necessarily speak to him, just clap eyes on him. Eye contact: Rebus wanted that memory.

‘He could be working at OSC, or anywhere else for that matter,’ Jack went on. ‘He might not even be in Aberdeen.’

‘Let’s go there anyway,’ Rebus repeated.

Altens Industrial Estate was south of the city, signposted off the A92. They found a map at the entrance to the estate, and used it to wind their way in towards LTS – Lancer Technical Support. There was what looked like a jam at one point, cars blocking the road, nobody going anywhere. Rebus got out to take a look, and almost wished he hadn’t. They were police cars, unmarked but with tell-tale static coming from their radios. Siobhan had passed on the info, and someone had been fast to act.

A man was bearing down on Rebus. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Rebus shrugged, hands in pockets. ‘Informal observer?’

DCI Grogan narrowed his eyes. But his mind was elsewhere; he’d no time or inclination for argument.

‘Is he inside?’ Rebus asked, nodding towards the LTS building, a typical industrial unit of windowless white corrugation.

Grogan shook his head. ‘We came steaming down here, now it seems he hasn’t come in today.’