Rudimentary tents had been erected over only two of the graves, someone having been dispatched to Inverness for more.

“This is interminable,” Clarke said, shuffling her feet again.

“We could sit in the car,” Rebus offered. She dismissed this with a firm shake of the head. “If Page needs you, he’ll know where to find you.”

“He’ll find me right here,” she stated.

“Well, I’m going for a cigarette.” She nodded and he left her to it, emerging onto the road and lighting up. Looking back, he saw the long shadows of the players as they moved around the clearing. One of the generators was really making a hellish racket, but it was better than silence, better than overhearing snatches of the discussions the SOCOs would be having.

It was a lonely spot. He couldn’t help wondering if they’d been brought here alive, bound and gagged perhaps, or in a stupor. Or maybe already dead. Trace evidence again—there had to be some of it in the vehicle. Fibers of clothing; strands of hair; maybe even saliva or blood.

Did they arrive here in daylight or at night? He guessed the latter. But a car left on the lane at night would look suspicious to anyone happening to drive past—another reason to take it into the woods.

Where it might have left tire tracks, scrapings of paint against a trunk or branch.

The forensic team would get busy in the morning; they needed daylight for their work.

A cordon had been put in place at both ends of the road, diversion signs posted. When a man approached on foot, Rebus tensed. His shoes and trouser bottoms were soaked, meaning he’d got past the guards by crossing the fields.

Journalist.

He had his phone out, held in front of him to film what he saw. Rebus covered his face with his hand.

“Put that bloody thing away unless you want a night in the cells,” he barked. “Then turn yourself around and bugger off the way you came.”

“Can I quote you on that, officer?” He was young, with fair curly hair spilling from the hood of a green Barbour jacket.

“I mean it.” Rebus checked and saw that the phone had been lowered.

“Big operation,” the reporter said, rising up onto his tiptoes to peer over Rebus’s shoulder. “SOCOs and everything. I’m guessing that means you’ve found something.”

“You’ll know when everybody else does,” Rebus growled.

“What the hell’s going on?”

Rebus turned in the direction of the voice. DCS Dempsey was striding towards him.

“Pond life,” Rebus explained, but her eyes were on the young man.

“Might have guessed you’d be first out of the traps, Raymond.”

“Anything you’d care to share, DCS Dempsey?” He was busy with his mobile’s touch screen, turning it from camera to tape recorder.

“There’ll be a press conference in the morning.”