Reception had doled out little toothbrush sets for both Esson and Ogilvie, and found them a couple of rooms at “the last-minute rate.” Rebus guessed the place might be busier next day, depending on how many news channels decided to cover the story. He was nursing his fourth whisky of the night.

“You thawed out yet?” he asked Clarke.

“Almost.”

“I’ve half a mind to head back out there,” Rebus told her.

“What good would it do?” She was staring at her phone’s screen, using the hotel wi-fi to scour the internet for mentions of Edderton.

“None,” Rebus admitted. “I’d just be in everyone’s way. On the other hand, I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep.”

“Four’s not enough anymore?” She gestured towards his whisky glass.

“Never has been. This is just taking the edge off.”

She picked up a shred of lettuce from the plate in front of her. The sandwiches, crisps and cherry tomatoes had been dispatched, though Rebus had abstained, with the complaint that he’d already eaten his own weight in white bread that day.

“This is just beginning, isn’t it?” Clarke speculated. “Totally different case now.”

“Nothing’s really changed,” Rebus countered. “We’ve got confirmation, that’s all.”

“You always knew it would turn out like this?”

“It was a possibility—we all knew that, whether we said so or not.”

“You’ve worked more of these cases than I have: where do we go from here?”

“Local interviews; crime-scene analysis; appeals for information…”

“What sort of person are we looking for?”

“Isn’t that a question for one of your profiler chums?”

“I don’t have any profiler chums. And it’s out of my hands anyway.”

Rebus looked at her. “I’m not convinced our pal Page is up to the task. You might need to be at his shoulder.”

“James will be fine. He’s just not been to many murder scenes.”

“He’s an office manager, Siobhan—could be CID or a company selling fitted kitchens. This needs someone a bit different.”

“DCS Dempsey’s at the head of the table.”

“That’s a definite bonus. But even she won’t have covered something like this before.”

“And you have? You’re asking me to get you an invite into the boardroom?”

“More or less.”

“That might make it a bit crowded—unless you want me left outside?”

He shook his head. “I just need to be there.”

“Won’t always be possible, John.” She finished her orange juice and checked the time. “What’s the breakfast like?”

“Substantial.”

“I forgot to ask when they start serving…”

“Seven.”

She gave a tired smile. “It’s like sitting with the Michelin guide.” Then she rose to her feet, bidding him good night.