So it was back onto the A9, the rain growing heavier as they crossed the Kessock Bridge, side winds buffeting the car. Clarke had set the wipers to their maximum speed, but they still struggled to cope.

“Never did buy those wellies,” Rebus commented from the backseat.

“There’s an umbrella somewhere at your feet,” he was told. He reached down and picked it up. It was pink and retractable, and looked to have a circumference no bigger than a drum cymbal.

“It’s yours if you want it,” Clarke said.

“Thanks,” Rebus replied without enthusiasm.

The uniform at the cordon was dressed for the elements. He even had a plastic shield for his clipboard. Their names were jotted down, along with the Audi’s registration number. A camera crew were sheltering in the back of their van, doors open so they could keep an eye on things. Raymond—Dempsey’s nephew—was seated in his own car, a white Volkswagen Polo. His window was down, and he offered a nod of greeting towards Rebus as the Audi crawled past the cordon and started to ascend the hill, rivulets of rainwater either side of it. The Portakabin had been unlocked and was providing shelter for those taking a break from the crime scene. SOCOs cupped their hands around beakers of instant soup, trying to get warm. Page decided to keep moving up the slope towards the locus. Clarke glanced back and saw that Rebus was happy where he was, but gesturing for her to stick with her boss.

There was just about room enough for Rebus inside the Portakabin. A couple of SOCOs were waiting for the kettle to boil, mugs at the ready. Bottles of water; empty Cup-a-Soup sachets. No sign of the evidence bags from the previous evening—the lab had probably taken them.

“Not the best of days for it,” Rebus said to no one in particular. “And no sign of the heater we were promised.” Then: “Have all the bodies gone now?”

There were nods of confirmation.

“Still just the five?”

“Just?”

“I’m thinking we should be thankful there aren’t more.”

“They’ve brought the dog back for a final recce,” one SOCO said.

“Any effects in the graves?” Rebus asked, trying to keep his tone conversational.

“Sorry—who are you again?”

“I’m with the Annette McKie team. I was here when Ruby found the first of them.”

This seemed to satisfy the room—just about. “No effects,” he was told. “No clothing, no jewelry, nothing.”

“And one body a good bit more recent than the others?”

There were more nods.

“She should be easy enough to identify,” someone conceded.

“The others won’t be?”

“Dental records maybe. Or a DNA match. Do you want some soup?”

The offer told Rebus that he had been accepted. “Thanks,” he said, even though he was still full from breakfast.