Back in the main office, Esson was trying not to look smug.

“You might have bloody warned me,” Rebus complained.

“You’re the one who was in a hurry,” she shot back. “Besides, I hear there’s a new pathologist—might be fun to be had there.”

“Oh, the mortuary’s a nonstop riot,” Rebus drawled. “You better have my winnings ready when I get back…”

“You’re too late,” the attendant said. “We had to bring it forward an hour.”

Rebus had been to the mortuary many times. There was a large storage area at ground level with a concrete floor that was regularly cleaned with a pressure hose. One whole wall comprised metal roller-drawers where the corpses were stored, with a separate smaller room off for worst-case scenarios. Vans could be backed in through a bay door from the car park, keeping the general public unaware of the building’s primary use. Labs and autopsy suite were one floor up, along with staff offices, the viewing room, and a waiting area for next of kin.

“She’s probably phoning in her report as we speak.”

“She?”

“Professor Quant.”

“Any chance of a word with her?”

The attendant nodded towards the flight of stairs. “She’s got to be elsewhere in twenty minutes,” he cautioned.

But Rebus was already on his way.

The door was ajar, but he tapped on it anyway. Quant had already changed out of her scrubs and was ending a call at her desk.

“You’re DS Rebus?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“I was just telling DCI Page…”

“You had to bring the autopsy forward.”

“I need to be at a lecture.” She glanced at her wristwatch.

“I could give you a lift.”

“Quicker walking—it’s just by the McEwan Hall.”

“I’ll walk with you, then.”

She fixed him with her blue eyes. Mascara coated her eyelashes and thick red hair fell to her shoulders and just beyond. Rebus placed her in her midforties, maybe a touch older. No rings on any of her fingers, but that could have been for professional reasons. The backs of her hands were pink, perhaps from the scrubbing they’d just been given.

“Just so you can update me,” Rebus explained.

“Fine then,” she said, gathering paperwork into a capacious leather bag before lifting her coat from the back of the chair and putting it on, Rebus resisting a sudden urge to help.

“Always supposing the case is worth updating,” he felt it necessary to qualify.

“I’m trying to find time for a second examination later today—if I can locate another pathologist to work with me.”

“Oh?”

She was looking around the cramped space, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

“It’s a strange one,” she said.

“He didn’t drown, then?”

“Dead when he entered the water. The question is: for how long?” She saw the look he was giving her. “I’m thinking months,” she explained. “Possibly even years.”

“Years?”