‘Bannock will be the first T-Bird field to undergo rigorous decommissioning,’ Rebus read. There seemed to be seven options available, from Leave In Place to Total Removal. The company’s ‘modest proposal’ was for mothballing: leaving the structure to be dealt with at a later date.

‘Surprise, surprise,’ Rebus muttered, noting that mothballing ‘would leave funds available for future exploration and development’.

He put the pamphlets back in their envelope and shoved it in a drawer, returning to his paperwork. A sheet of fax paper was hidden near the bottom. He pulled it out. It was from Stuart Minchell, sent the previous day at seven in the evening: further details on Allan Mitchison’s two workmates. The one who worked at the Sullom Voe terminal was called Jake Harley. He was on a walking/birdwatching holiday somewhere on Shetland, and probably hadn’t yet heard of his friend’s demise. The one who worked offshore was called Willie Ford. He was halfway through a sixteen-day stint, and ‘of course’ had learned about Allan Mitchison.

Rebus picked up his telephone, reached into the drawer for Minchell’s compliment slip. He got the number from it and pushed the buttons. It was early; all the same …

‘Personnel.’

‘Stuart Minchell, please.’

‘Speaking.’ Bingo: Minchell a company man, early starter.

‘Mr Minchell, it’s Inspector Rebus again.’

‘Inspector, you’re lucky I picked up the phone. Usually I just let it ring, only way I can get some work done before the rush.’

‘Your fax, Mr Minchell – why did you say “of course” Willie Ford had learned of Allan Mitchison’s death?’

‘Because they worked together, didn’t I tell you?’

‘Offshore?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which platform, Mr Minchell?’

‘Didn’t I tell you that either? Bannock.’

‘The one that’s being mothballed?’

‘Yes. Our Public Relations team’s got its work cut out there.’ A pause. ‘Is it important, Inspector?’

‘Probably not, sir,’ Rebus said. ‘Thanks anyway.’ Rebus put down the receiver, drummed his fingers against it.

He went out to the shops, bought a filled roll for breakfast – corned beef and onion. The roll was too floury, and stuck to the roof of his mouth. He bought himself a coffee to wash it down. When he got back to the Shed, Bain and Maclay were at their desks, feet up, tabloid reading. Bain was eating a dough-ring; Maclay burping sausage-meat.

‘Snitch reports?’ Rebus asked.

‘Nothing so far,’ Bain said, not taking his eyes from the paper.

‘Tony El?’

Maclay’s turn: ‘Description’s gone out to every Scottish force, nothing’s come back.’

‘I phoned Grampian CID myself,’ Bain added, ‘told them to check out Mitchison’s Indian restaurant. Looks like he was a regular, they might know something.’

‘Nice one, Dod,’ Rebus said.

‘Not just a pretty face, is he?’ Maclay said.

The weather forecast was for sunshine and showers. It seemed to Rebus, as he drove out to Ratho, that they were coming at ten-minute intervals. Brisk black clouds, shafts of sunlight, blue skies, then clouds gathering again. At one point, it started raining when there didn’t seem to be a cloud in the sky.