“See much of your son and daughter?”

“When we can. It’s easier with Joanne.”

“She’s in Inverness?” Rebus guessed.

Mrs. Magrath nodded. “Though actually, Kenny saw Brendan a few weeks back.”

“And Brendan’s in Glasgow?” Rebus checked.

“I couldn’t go—had to visit a friend in Raigmore.”

“Quite a hike from here to the west, isn’t it?” Rebus sympathized. He’d done that drive himself, after all. A9, then M80, Sally Hazlitt waiting for him at journey’s end.

And if you needed petrol, you might leave the road at Pitlochry…

“A few weeks back, eh?” he added. “Can you be more specific, Mrs. Magrath?”

“Being nosy again?” Her tone had grown cool.

“Hard to switch off sometimes.”

“It was a Satur—”

She heard the van before he did. It was pulling up outside.

“A Saturday?” Rebus prompted. Same day of the week Annette was abducted. “Just over three weeks ago, would that be, Mrs. Magrath?”

“Kenny has a system—he’ll tell you so himself. Leaves here early, lunch with Brendan, then he can start home and miss the football traffic.”

The motor revved once before juddering to a stop.

“That’s good,” Rebus was saying. “I must remember that.” Leave Glasgow just after three…reach Pitlochry between half past four and five…

An unoiled van door creaked open, then slammed shut. Mrs. Magrath was on her feet when the front door rattled open.

“I’ve only got ten minutes,” a male voice boomed out. Kenny Magrath walked into the room, doing a double-take when he saw there was a stranger there.

“This is Detective Rebus,” his wife began to explain.

“I know who he is—just had Gregor nipping my ear about him.” A finger was pointed at Rebus. “You’re not welcome here.”

His wife looked from one man to the other. “What’s going on?”

Kenny Magrath’s eyes were burning into Rebus’s. He was taller and broader than his brother, and maybe ten years younger. A thick head of hair only now beginning to go silver at the temples. Chiseled face and deep-set eyes beneath bushy eyebrows. Rebus stood his ground, happy to continue the staring contest. He had risen to his feet and was sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, showing he was in no hurry to be anywhere else. The fingers of his right hand grazed the guitar pick.

“I’m asking you to leave.” Magrath gestured towards the door. Then, to his wife: “Maggie, call the police.”

“But he is the police.”

“Not according to Gregor.”

Maggie Magrath looked at Rebus, feeling cheated and let down by the visitor.

“I’m attached to the Edderton inquiry,” Rebus stated, eyes never leaving Magrath’s.

“He’s from Edinburgh,” Magrath told his wife. “Got no business being here, barging into people’s homes…”

Rebus was about to explain that he’d been invited in, but didn’t want to get Maggie Magrath into any extra bother. “We need to talk,” he told Magrath.

“No we don’t.” Magrath took a step towards him.

“I still don’t know what this is about,” his wife was complaining.