Esson nodded. “The two callers don’t know one another, and they stayed there on different weeks. One was in September, the other October. It’s got to be coincidence, right? I mean, Inverness being on the A9…”

“What’s the hotel called?”

“Whicher’s. It’s part of a chain. I don’t know much more than that.”

“Was she a chambermaid?”

“Receptionist.” Esson paused. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Rebus nodded slowly. “And this is the only example where two people have come forward with the exact same information?”

“So far, yes.”

“Well, I suppose it’s worth checking.”

“Not a priority, though?”

“What do you think?”

“I think they’re long dead.”

“And Annette McKie?”

“There’s still a chance—albeit a slim one.”

“Which is why the focus needs to be on her,” Rebus said. “That was good work, by the way—the bus station CCTV. Shows what happens when you’re thorough.”

Her head dropped just a fraction. “To be honest, I feel a bit bad about it.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t picked up straight away.” She glanced in the direction of Page’s closed door.

“It was Siobhan who looked at the footage originally?” Rebus guessed. Esson gave the slightest of nods. “You reckon she’s in there getting a spanking?” Rebus watched as the color rose to the young woman’s cheeks. “I still think you deserve a prize—what do you say to a nice big mug of hot water?”

33

33

The Oxford Bar was mid-evening quiet. Rebus was seated in the back room with an IPA and the Evening News when Siobhan Clarke arrived. She asked him if he wanted a refill.

“Have I ever been known to refuse?”

She retreated and returned a couple of minutes later with a fresh pint and a glass full of something green-tinged and fizzy.

“Lemonade and lime?” he guessed.

“Gin, lime and soda,” she corrected him, raising the glass and taking a gulp, exhaling noisily afterward.

“Sign of a tough day,” he commented.

“We can’t all go swanning off around the Highlands.”

“Did Page have a go at you?”

“About what?”

“Not spotting Hammell at the bus station.”

She looked at him. “Christine told you,” she surmised. Rebus gave a shrug and waited for her to answer. “I think he was more annoyed that he can’t get his teeth into Frank Hammell until tomorrow.”

“Am I invited to that interview?”

“No.”

“Just you and Physical Graffiti? That’ll be cozy.”

“Don’t start.”

He held up his hands in a show of surrender. They sat in silence for a minute or two. Eventually she asked if there was anything in the paper.

“Not much.”

“Christine told you about the e-fits?”

He nodded.

“They got me thinking,” she went on. “Maybe the accountant had money worries. And the hairdresser might’ve decided she’d had enough of married men…”

“And Sally Hazlitt?”