“She said she was sorry about the Golf.” Traynor’s attention had shifted to the window again. “It was a birthday present. Insurance cost almost as much as the car…”

“Did she say anything about the accident itself, sir?”

Traynor shook his head. “I really do need to go back in.”

“Mind if I ask where you’re from, Mr. Traynor?” The question came from Rebus.

“Wimbledon.”

“Southwest London?”

“Yes.”

“And by the time you heard about Jessica, flights to Scotland would have finished for the day—did you take the train?”

“I have access to a private plane.”

“So you’ve been awake all night and half of today? Might be you could use some shut-eye yourself.”

“I managed an hour or two on the chair.”

“Even so…Your wife wasn’t able to join you?”

“We’re divorced. She lives in Florida with someone half her age who calls himself a ‘personal trainer.’”

“But you’ve told her about Jessica?” Clarke checked.

“Not yet.”

“Don’t you think she should know?”

“She walked out on us eight years ago—Jessica doesn’t get so much as a phone call at Christmas.” The words were tinged with bile. Traynor was exhausted, yes, but in no mood to forgive. He turned towards the two detectives. “Is this because I called in a favor?”

“Sir?” Clarke’s eyes had narrowed at the question.

“I happen to know a couple of people in the Met—phoned from the plane to make sure everything up here was kosher. Thing is, as you said yourself, it was the kind of accident that could happen to anyone.” His tone hardened. “So I don’t see what’s to be gained from you talking to her.”

“We didn’t quite say it could happen to anyone,” Rebus broke in. “Straight stretch of deserted road—has to be a reason why the car decided not to stick to it. The locals out that way like to do a bit of racing once the sun’s gone down…”

“I’ve already told you, Jessica was the safest driver imaginable.”

“Then you’ve got to wonder what was causing her to do the speed she was doing. Was it maybe road rage? Was she trying to get away from someone tailgating her? Questions only she can answer, Mr. Traynor.” Rebus paused. “Questions I’d have thought you’d want to have answered too.”

He waited for this to sink in. Traynor ran his hand through his hair again, then gave a long sigh.

“Give me your number,” he conceded. “I’ll call you when she’s awake.”

“We were just going to grab something from the café,” Rebus told him. “So if it’s in the next twenty minutes or so, we’ll still be here.”

“We can bring you a sandwich, if you like,” Clarke added, her face softening a little.

Traynor shook his head, but took her card when she offered it.