“That reminds me, we should buy Ruby a nice juicy bone,” Rebus said.

All three of them watched as the news crew entered the dining room, grabbing a table before heading for the buffet. There was a swagger to them, as though they suddenly owned the place.

“I think that’s our cue to make an exit,” Page said, getting to his feet.

They decided not to check out—not until they knew there was somewhere else for them to go. There wasn’t much leg room in the back of Clarke’s Audi, but that was where Rebus ended up. On the way to Northern Constabulary HQ, Page decided to entertain them with a pep talk about protocol and how they were “representatives” of Lothian and Borders Police so should “showcase” their talents and not make “waves”—or any foul-ups. Rebus got the feeling the speech was aimed squarely at him. He met Clarke’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, but she wasn’t giving anything away.

The building they were looking for was next to a roundabout and across the road from a twenty-four-hour Tesco. The police HQ was a modern three-story construction of pink stone and smoked glass. There were journalists waiting on the roadway and pavement in front of it, setting up cameras or busy on their phones. A uniformed constable checked Page’s warrant card before nodding the Audi in the direction of a parking space. Rebus spotted a sign next to the entrance with the motto PROTECT AND SERVE on it, written in Gaelic as well as English. Bit late for the “protect” part; all that was left was the “serve”…

Once indoors, they learned that Detective Chief Superintendent Dempsey had already left for the first autopsy. It was being held at nearby Raigmore Hospital. Rebus couldn’t help thinking: same place as Sammy’s IVF. Page was asking for directions when a text arrived on his phone.

“Dempsey,” he explained to Clarke and Rebus. “Resident pathologist’s apparently annoyed by the number of bodies—live rather than dead—and wouldn’t welcome us adding to the total.” He gnawed at his bottom lip. Rebus knew what he’d be thinking. They were here as guests of Northern Constabulary. It wasn’t really their case—not until Annette McKie was formally identified. Even then, common sense dictated that the McKie inquiry would be bundled with the others. With Edderton as the locus, it was Northern’s case, no contest. If Page complained or made a fuss, they could be sent packing at a moment’s notice. On the other hand, what use were they to anyone just hanging around, waiting to be told what had already happened in their absence?

“We could head out to Edderton,” Clarke suggested.

After a moment’s consideration, Page nodded his agreement.