Once they were out in the corridor and the door was closed, he proffered the address. Clarke tapped it into her phone.

“Speaking of which…” Traynor held out a hand, palm up. Clarke dug his daughter’s phone from her pocket and handed it over.

“Does Jessica have flatmates?” she asked.

“Another student. Her name’s Alice or Alison—I only met her once.”

“Does she know about Jessica?”

“I’m guessing she’d be here if she did.”

Rebus had a question of his own. “Is Jessica seeing anyone?”

“A boyfriend? There was someone called Forbes. She hasn’t mentioned him lately.”

“Is Forbes a first name or a last?”

“I’ve really no idea.” Traynor’s eyes were trained on the window and the bed beyond. “I need to get back.”

“If she confides anything…”

He turned to face Rebus, then nodded slowly before reentering his daughter’s room. They watched him take his seat again.

“You don’t think she was alone out there,” Clarke suggested.

“I don’t even think she was driving,” Rebus replied.

2

2

In his cramped office—previously a storeroom off the main CID suite—Detective Chief Inspector James Page listened to their report. Gayfield Square police station was part of the city’s B Division, but that designation would soon vanish, and Page feared that the station itself would be closed, knocked down and redeveloped. The “Square” outside was an area of grass which didn’t get mowed enough. Traffic rumbled up and down Leith Walk, sometimes causing the windows at the front of the building to vibrate. Not that this affected Page, his office having no windows.

“So the boot ended up there how?” he asked. Rebus and Clarke were both standing, since there was no space for any chair other than the one their boss sat on.

“Whoever was driving fled the scene,” Rebus explained. “That leaves two possibilities. One, she regained consciousness for a bit, realized she was alone, and dragged herself across to the driver’s seat.”

“Why?”

“To protect the other person. We would assume she’d been behind the wheel.”

Page considered this. “And the second option?” he asked.

“Is that the driver either didn’t black out or else came to before her. He or she panicked—for whatever reason—and hoofed it. But not before undoing her seat belt and hauling her across to the driver’s side.”

“Not bothering to do up her seat belt after,” Clarke added.

“And you get all of this from the fact that a brown suede boot was in the wrong foot well?” Page looked from Clarke to Rebus and back again.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Well, say you’re right—what exactly does it change?”

“Driver could have been drunk or stoned,” Rebus offered.