‘Working late maybe?’ he said, already knowing the answer.

‘I tried his office.’

‘Yes, but he’s a sales manager, could he be entertaining a client?’

‘He always phones, he’s very dutiful that way.’

Dutiful: odd choice of word. The room looked the sort that got cleaned before it was ever dirty; Una Slocum looked like the cleaner. Her hands twitched with the bundle of tissues, her whole face drawn with tension.

‘Try to calm down, Mrs Slocum. Is there anything you could take?’ He’d bet she had a doctor’s prescription somewhere in the house.

‘In the bathroom, but I don’t want any. They make me dopey.’

Towards the far end of the room, a large mahogany dining table and six straight-backed chairs sat in front of a trio of wall units. China dolls behind glass, bathed by recessed lighting. Some silverware. No family photographs …

‘Maybe a friend who could …?’

Una Slocum sat down, got up again, remembering she had a guest. ‘Some tea, Mr …?’

‘Rebus, Inspector Rebus. Tea would be great.’

Give her something to do, keep her mind busy. The kitchen was only slightly smaller than the living room. Rebus peered out into the back garden. It looked enclosed, no easy way for Ryan Slocum to sneak up on the house. Rebus’s ears were primed for car noises …

‘He’s gone,’ she said, stopping suddenly in the middle of the floor with the kettle in one hand, teapot in the other.

‘What makes you say that, Mrs Slocum?’

‘A suitcase, some clothes … they’re gone.’

‘Business, maybe? Something at the last minute?’

She shook her head. ‘He’d have left a note or something, a message on the machine.’

‘You’ve checked?’

She nodded. ‘I was in Aberdeen all day, shopping, walking around. When I got back, the house felt different somehow, emptier. I think I knew right off.’

‘Has he said anything about leaving?’

‘No.’ The ghost of a smile. ‘But a wife gets to know, Inspector. Another woman.’

‘A woman?’

Una Slocum nodded. ‘Isn’t it always? He’s been so … I don’t know, just different lately. Short-tempered, distracted … spending time away from home when I knew he’d no business meetings.’ She was still nodding, confirming it to herself. ‘He’s gone.’

‘And you’ve no idea where he could be?’

She shook her head. ‘Wherever she is, that’s all.’

Rebus walked back through to the living room, checked the window: no BMW. A hand touched his arm, and he spun. It was Una Slocum.

‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘I nearly died.’

‘Ryan always complains I never make any noise. It’s the carpet.’

Half-inch Wilton, yards of it.

‘Have you any children, Mrs Slocum?’

She shook her head. ‘I think Ryan would have liked a son. Maybe that was the problem …’

‘How long have you been married?’

‘A long time, fifteen years, nearer sixteen.’

‘Where did you meet?’

She smiled, drifting back. ‘Galveston, Texas. Ryan was an engineer, I was a secretary in the same company. He’d emigrated from Scotland some time before. I could tell he missed home, I always knew we’d end up coming back.’