“Suppose so.”

Robison bit into her apple, having turned down Rebus’s offer of biscuits or crisps. “Could just be someone with the same surname,” she offered between chews.

“Could be,” Rebus agreed.

“Meantime,” she went on, “while the three of us are here, maybe we could decide where we want to go for our night out…”

58

That evening, Rebus met Siobhan Clarke at the Oxford Bar. They took a table in the back room and Rebus asked her if there was any more news from Inverness.

“The wheels are grinding,” she told him. “More conscripts have been drafted in. Dempsey’s widening the search area—locals are queuing up to help, along with a full complement of hunky fire-fighters.”

Rebus thought back to the original MisPer cases—lots of legwork, most of it so there could be no accusation of slacking.

“Thing is,” he cautioned, “one of those locals could be hiding something.”

“She knows that. Every team of civvies has one of our lot attached, with orders to watch out for anyone acting nervous or odd.”

“And all this in the hope of finding clothes and belongings?”

“They have to be somewhere.”

Rebus nodded slowly and asked her if she’d spoken to Dempsey. Clarke nodded back, lifting her drink.

“I could see she wanted to ask me why I hadn’t taken it to my boss.”

“But she didn’t?”

“Just said she’d arrange for Hammell to be swabbed.”

“How did she react when you told her Annette and Hammell had been lovers?”

“A slight raising of the eyebrows.”

“And your source…?”

“Remains confidential.” Clarke paused. “There’s always a chance the hair won’t belong to Hammell.”

“In which case, it becomes useful again,” Rebus agreed.

She took another sip of her drink. “By the way, I phoned that electrician’s—no answer. Still reckon it’s a coincidence?”

“Peter Bliss has stayed in touch with Gregor Magrath. Doesn’t see him as a sparky and isn’t aware of any relatives in the area.” He thought for a moment, then reached for his phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Jim Mellon—just remembered I’ve got his number here.”

It was Mellon’s wife who answered. Her husband was in one of the barns and wouldn’t be back for a while. Rebus gave her his number and asked if Mellon could phone him back.

“Nothing I can help you with, then?” she inquired.

“Actually, maybe you can. It’s just that Mr. Mellon was on TV earlier…”

“He’s getting too much of a taste for it, if you ask me.”

“I was wondering about a van I saw parked in the farmyard behind him. It had the name Magrath on the side. I think it belongs to an electrician…?”

“Kenny Magrath,” she stated.

“Kenny Magrath,” Rebus repeated for Clarke’s benefit. “Lives in Rosemarkie, does he?”

“That’s right.”

“It’s just that I know another Magrath in Rosemarkie, name of Gregor.”

“Might be the brother.”

“The brother?” Rebus’s eyes were on Clarke as he spoke.

“I’m sure Kenny’s mentioned a brother.”

“That must be it,” Rebus said.