The Tannery was fairly busy. There was football on the TV, and most of the drinkers seemed to be there to watch it. Rebus and Cafferty found a spot at the far end of the pub. Not having a clear view of the screen, it was quieter than the rest of the pub. Cafferty insisted on buying the first round.

“I’m the one dragging you out, after all.”

A man had risen from one of the tables. He waited until he had their attention, then nodded towards the barman. “He’s too young to know who you are, but I’m not. We don’t want any trouble here.”

Cafferty looked at Rebus. “Is he talking to you or to me?” Then, to the man: “Don’t sweat it.” He stuck out a hand, which the man—presumably the landlord—took, before returning to his table, a relieved look on his face.

“Didn’t even offer us one on the house,” Cafferty complained, demolishing his whisky and ordering another. “So, is it true about all these poor wee girls?”

“Is what true?”

“The count’s up to six now.”

“Is it?”

“I can use a computer, same as the next man. Silver surfers, they call us. So Annette McKie’s just the last in a long line?”

“Looks that way.”

“Maybe that’s the way it’s meant to look.”

Rebus put his glass down. “What are you saying?”

“She’d had an argument with Frank Hammell, hadn’t she?”

“Who told you that?”

Cafferty just smiled. “Could he maybe have followed her, with a view to settling it?”

“You’d like us to put Hammell in the frame?”

Cafferty laughed away the suggestion. “I’m just speculating here.”

“So how did that photo end up getting sent from Annette’s phone? How could Hammell have known about the others?”

“Frank has fingers in many pies.”

But Rebus was shaking his head. He lifted the pint again. “He just didn’t want her taking the bus. Turns out he was right, too—she probably wouldn’t have got travel-sick on the train.”

“I still think it’s too convenient,” Cafferty offered. “Hammell’s a player, and she’s the next best thing he has to a daughter of his own. It can’t be down to chance that she was snatched. Have you spoken to Calum MacBride or Stuart Macleod?”

“Never even heard of them.”

“They run Aberdeen. There’s been a bit of tension between them and Hammell…”

“Same questions, then: why the photograph, and how did they know?”

“I’m not the detective here.”

“No, you’re not. What you are, though, is the same conniving bastard you’ve always been. Six missing women and you’re trying to conjure something out of it for your own entertainment.”

Cafferty’s eyes darkened. “Careful what you say, Rebus.”