The diesel thrumming of the generators. Half a dozen arc lamps illuminating proceedings. Officers reeling out lengths of crime-scene tape. A mud track led from the lane into the trees. This track was now out of bounds, bordered by the blue-and-white-striped tape. A vehicle must have been used; doubtful the bodies had been dragged or carried all the way.

“Has to be all-wheel drive,” Rebus had posited to Clarke. “Mind you, that probably accounts for three quarters of the cars in these parts.”

She had nodded, staring at him.

“What?” he had asked.

“I just can’t believe you were here.”

To which he had offered only a shrug.

Page was in consultation with Dempsey. He had done well to borrow boots from somewhere. Rebus’s own shoes needed drying out—either that or chucking away. Clean socks wouldn’t be a bad idea either, and as for his trousers…

“You bleeding?” Clarke asked as he checked the damage.

“Just a scratch.”

“Might need a tetanus shot.”

“Tot of whisky’ll do me fine.”

They were discussing anything but what lay in front of them. Ruby had located three bodies so far, and was now on a break, her handler having fetched a bowl and a bottle of water from the van. The scene-of-crime team had arrived and were busy. A doctor had been found, and a couple of evidence officers were busy with video cameras.

“So how was your day?” Rebus made show of asking Clarke.

“Oh, you know, just the usual.” She folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to stay warm.

“Checked into the hotel yet?”

“Seems all right.” She shuffled her feet. They were standing well away from the three graves, there being not enough overshoes and the like to go round. Trace evidence again; the “integrity of the locus” had to be maintained—Page had used those exact words when explaining to Clarke why she’d have to stay this side of the tape for now. Rebus hadn’t merited any such apology, or even an acknowledgment of his existence.

Even though he’d been the one to call it in.

Or maybe because he’d been the one to call it in.

Dempsey had thanked him, though, Rebus reminding her that it was Ruby’s result more than his.

“Sore point,” Clarke had said to him afterward. “As I was hearing at HQ, not much love lost between Northern Constabulary and their neighbors in Grampian…”

She was looking at her phone now, reciting the time. “Ten fifteen.”

“Feels later,” Rebus offered.

“How long have you been out here?”

Rebus didn’t like to think. Instead he moved aside to let more SOCOs through. They ducked beneath the tape, dressed in their hooded white overalls and elasticated shoe covers, making a rustling sound as they walked. They carried cases and folded plastic sheets. The mortuary van had yet to arrive. It would bring the body bags. But nothing was being moved just yet.