‘Give me a break,’ Rebus said under his breath. Then he finished his coffee and ate the chocolate biscuit, and sat there staring at the windows of the tumble driers. His head felt like he was inside one, looking out.

He made two more calls – T-Bird Oil and Grampian CID – then decided to take a quick run out to Brian Holmes’s, chancing that Nell wouldn’t be there. It was a narrow terraced house, a nice size for two people. There was a tiny patch of garden out front, in desperate need of work. Hanging baskets were sited either side of the door, gasping for water. He’d thought Nell a keen gardener.

No one answered the door. He went to the window and looked in. They didn’t have net curtains; some younger couples didn’t bother these days. The living room was a bomb-site, the floor littered with newspapers and magazines, food wrappings, plates and mugs and empty pint glasses. The wastepaper-bin was spilling beer cans. The TV played to an empty room: daytime soap, a tanned couple face to face. They looked more convincing when you couldn’t hear them.

Rebus decided to ask next door. A toddler opened the door to him.

‘Hiya, cowboy, is your mum in?’

A young woman was coming from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ Rebus said. ‘I was looking for Mr Holmes, he lives next door.’

She looked out of the door. ‘His car’s gone, he always has the same spot.’ She pointed to where Rebus’s Saab was parked.

‘You haven’t seen his wife this morning, have you?’

‘Not for ages,’ the woman said. ‘She used to drop by with sweets for Damon.’ She rubbed the kid’s hair. He shrugged her off and galloped back into the house.

‘Well, thanks anyway,’ Rebus said.

‘He should be back this evening, he doesn’t go out much.’

Rebus nodded. He was still nodding when he got to his car. He sat in the driver’s seat, hands rubbing the wheel. She’d walked out on him. How long ago? Why hadn’t the stubborn sod said anything? Oh sure, cops were famous for releasing their emotions, talking out their personal crises, Rebus himself a case in point.

He drove to the warehouse: no sign of Holmes, but the clerical clerk said he’d been working right up until closing time last night.

‘Did he look like he was finished?’

The clerk shook his head. ‘Said he’d see me today.’

Rebus thought about leaving a message, decided he couldn’t risk it. He got back into the car and drove.

He drove through Pilton and Muirhouse, didn’t want to cut too early on to the busy Queensferry Road. Traffic wasn’t bad heading out of town – at least it was moving. He got change ready for the toll at the Forth Bridge.

He was going north. Not just to Dundee this trip. He was going to Aberdeen. He didn’t know if he was running away, or heading for a confrontation.