Aviemore.

Inverness.

Kessock Bridge.

Then Munlochy, Avoch, Fortrose.

Arriving finally at his destination: the row of houses fronting the coastline at Rosemarkie.

There was no sign of Gregor Magrath in the sun porch. The venerable olive-green Land Rover was parked in the same spot as before. Rebus knocked on the door of the cottage and waited. When there was no answer, he peered in through the living room window, noting no movement within. He could just about make out the framed photos on the bookcase. Straightening up, he fought the elements to get a cigarette lit, then stood beside his cooling Saab, gazing towards the distant shore. A dog was barking on the beach, way over to Rebus’s right, its owner lagging many dozens of yards behind. There was a figure by the water’s edge. Rebus shielded his eyes and watched as the man continued to trudge along the tide line. Not bothering to lock the car, he headed in the same direction, the wind flinging granules into his face.

“Mr. Magrath!” he called. Magrath turned towards him, but then seemed to dismiss him. He had his back to Rebus when Rebus called his name a second time.

“You again.” Magrath sounded irritated. He was digging the toe of one shoe into the wet sand, watching each new indentation fill with seawater.

“What’s the matter?” Rebus asked. “Can’t bear to look me in the eye?”

Magrath accepted the challenge, the two men standing in silence for a moment.

“How come nobody knows about your brother?” Rebus inquired, dropping his voice.

“Kenny? Everybody knows Kenny.”

Rebus nodded. “Up here, maybe. But all the times you’ve spoken to Peter Bliss on the phone…and all the years you were at SCRU…and when Bliss visited you and I came to your house that last time…” Magrath had broken off eye contact, his interest shifting back to the beach beneath his feet. He opened his mouth but said nothing. The only sounds were the breaking of the waves and the stropping of the wind.

“You’ve always been so interested in SCRU’s caseload, pestering your pal Bliss for details.”

“Didn’t I start the blessed thing?” Magrath complained.

“You did,” Rebus agreed. “But I think there’s more to it than that. A woman called Nina Hazlitt comes to your office one day, and soon afterward you decide to retire—surprising everyone. SCRU is your baby, and suddenly you don’t want it anymore. You’re moving north, moving near to your brother. Not that you’re explaining it to anyone or mentioning his name…” When Magrath said nothing, Rebus went on. “Nina Hazlitt came to see you because she thought she’d found a thread connecting her daughter’s disappearance to that of Brigid Young. That thread was the A9 itself. She reckons you were kind to her, in that you listened to her story. But you yourself said it—you didn’t make any actual progress, didn’t manage to get anyone else interested in the case.” Rebus paused. “I’m wondering if you even tried.”