The young man turned from his work long enough to give a crisp nod. Rebus noted that he was wearing a waistcoat of the same tartan as the carpet.

“Susie works here?” Rebus asked. The receptionist’s badge identified her only as Amanda.

“Yes.”

“Do you know if anyone showed her this photo? It’s been on the news.”

“She’s a different shift from me.” She was growing wary now.

“When was she last seen?”

She had picked up the phone next to her. “You need to speak to the duty manager…”

The duty manager’s name was Dora Causley and she sat with Rebus in the lounge as a pot of tea was fetched. She held the e-fit and studied it carefully.

“It’s very like her,” she admitted.

“Susie?”

“Susie Mercer. She’s been with us nearly nine months.”

“Not at work today, though?”

“She phoned in sick a few days back. By rights, she should have produced a doctor’s line by now…”

“I’d like to speak to her.”

Causley nodded slowly. “I can get you her details.”

“Thank you. And do you happen to know if anyone might have shown her this photo or mentioned the likeness to her?”

“No idea, sorry.”

She left him to his tea and shortbread, returning a few minutes later with a slip of paper: home address and phone number.

“Do you know where this is?” Rebus asked.

Causley shook her head. “I’ve only been in Inverness a couple of years. Amanda can find it for you on the computer.”

Rebus nodded his acceptance of this. “What about Susie Mercer? Is she a local?”

“English accent,” Causley said. “No shortage of them in these parts.”

“Is she married?”

“Don’t remember seeing a ring.”

“She must have a personnel file—any chance I could take a quick look?”

“I’d need authorization for that.”

“My word’s not good enough?”

The firmness of her smile was answer enough.

Armed with a route map printed from the internet by Amanda, Rebus set out to the car park. The Saab’s bonnet was still warm to the touch. “Sorry, old-timer,” he apologized. “We’re not quite done yet.”

The address was a flat above a charity shop in the city center. Rebus pressed the bell and waited. He had been forced to leave his car on a double yellow line. Parking didn’t seem to be possible otherwise. He pressed the bell again, checking the name beneath it: Mercer. There was one other buzzer, the name next to it scored out. Rebus tried it anyway, and a minute later the door opened. A man in his mid twenties stood at the foot of the stairs, chewing a mouthful of dinner.

“Sorry,” Rebus said. “I was looking for Susie Mercer.”

“Haven’t seen her today.”

“She’s been off sick. Workmates are a bit worried.”