Rebus studied her. She’d cropped her hair and bleached it, then plucked her eyebrows till they almost ceased to exist. But the eyes and cheekbones were still those of her mother.

“You’ve gotten good at this down the years,” Rebus said, staring into the eyes of Sally Hazlitt.

“Not good enough,” she snapped back.

“That e-fit was a fair likeness, though—no wonder you panicked.” He paused. “So do I call you Sally, or Susie, or have you already fixed on a new name?”

She stared at him. “Nina keeps mentioning you on the news. Then I saw that photo of the two of you…”

“And?”

“And she needs to be told to stop.”

“Stop looking for you or stop thinking you’re a murder victim?”

Her eyes remained fixed on his. “Both.”

“Why not tell her yourself?”

She shook her head. “No way,” she said.

“Then tell me why you did it.” Rebus lifted the coffee to his mouth.

“First I need you to tell me something—why do you think she’s doing it?”

“She’s your mother. What other reason does she need?”

But Sally Hazlitt was shaking her head again. “Has she told you anything about what our lives were like?”

Rebus thought for a moment. “Your mum and dad were teachers. Lived in London…”

“That’s as much as you know?”

“Crouch End, she told me—a nicer area than they should have been able to afford. A relative left some sort of legacy.” He paused. “She’s still in the same house, by the way, sharing with your Uncle Alfie at the moment. Your dad liked reading you stories when you were a kid.” He paused again, maintaining eye contact. “You know he’s dead?”

She nodded. “Good riddance.” And at last Rebus thought he began to see. “There’s lots he liked teaching me,” she went on, meaningfully. “Lots and lots.”

The silence lay between them until he broke it, his voice softening.

“Did you say anything to your mum at the time?”

“I didn’t need to—she knew. That’s the whole reason she wants to know if I’m still around. Because if I am, I might spill the beans.” She was looking down at the floor, eyes glistening.

“Why wait till Aviemore to make your move?”

It took her a moment to gather herself again. “I knew I didn’t want to study English at university—that had always been his idea. And the more we all sat around the chalet in Aviemore talking about the future, the more I knew I couldn’t tell him to his face.”

Rebus nodded his understanding.

“He’d…stopped by that time. Stopped when I was fourteen.” She cleared her throat. “Sounds crazy, but I thought back then it must be my fault, and that made it worse somehow. I’d spent the years since thinking how to punish him, and that night, December 31st, I had just enough Dutch courage in me—or gin at any rate. The whole thing felt so much easier, being in a strange place, hundreds of miles away from them.”