MAGRATH.

Rebus called Clarke back. “Well?” he asked.

“Reckon it’s coincidence?”

“Not such an unusual surname.”

“Actually it is—spelled that way. I just checked the local phone book.”

“You think Gregor Magrath runs some sort of business?”

“Google to the rescue—there’s just one ‘Magrath’s’ within about fifty miles. An electrician, based in Rosemarkie.”

Rebus was thoughtful. “Did he act like an electrician to you?”

“Seemed more your typical pensioner. And the van wasn’t there either, was it?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Rebus told her. Then: “Have you had a chance to speak to Dempsey yet?”

“Not quite, but she’s in the building somewhere.”

“And you reckon you’ll be back down here tonight? Want to meet for a drink?”

“Not a session, mind—just a drink?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll call you.”

“I’m happy to bow out if Page makes a counteroffer.”

“Goodbye, John.”

He smiled at the phone and dropped it back into his pocket. The barman was standing behind the IPA pump, ready to offer a refill, but Rebus shook his head and left the pub.

At SCRU, Bliss and Robison helped him empty the car, Robison asking the same question Esson had: were the files going to Inverness?

“Quite possibly,” was all he said in reply.

At the very moment they deposited the last box on the floor, and stood up to wipe the sweat from their eyes and get their breathing back to normal, Daniel Cowan walked in from some meeting or other, looking both more dapper and more generally pleased with himself than ever.

“I’m not one to criticize,” he told them, “but isn’t our strategy to empty this office rather than fill it?”

“The A9 case,” Rebus informed him. Cowan looked suddenly interested, and even ran a finger along the edge of the topmost box. The A9 was a real investigation, current, live and in the news. There was a momentary longing in Cowan’s eyes: he wanted it and could not have it. Moreover, if he took on a role at the Crown Office Cold Case Unit, he might never work a contemporary inquiry again.

“I was just going to treat the troops to a Kit Kat in the canteen,” Rebus said.

“I’m not invited?” Cowan asked.

“I thought you’d want to stay put and make the phone call.”

Cowan looked at him. “What phone call?”

“To Inverness—letting them know the files are here when they want them.”

Cowan’s eyes brightened. “Yes, I suppose it should be me that does that, shouldn’t it?”

“We’ll see you later, then,” Rebus said, leading Bliss and Robison from the room.

Once they were settled at a table, Rebus asked Bliss about Gregor Magrath’s electrical skills.

“He could change a lightbulb,” Bliss said. “Not sure I’d trust him to wire a plug.”

Rebus explained about the van. “Has he got any relatives up there?”

“None that I know of.”

“He’d have said, wouldn’t he? I mean, the two of you have kept in touch—you’ve been to his house…”

“On the other hand, it might explain why he headed north rather than retiring somewhere with a bit of sun.”