“That’s it?” she said. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“I’ve had worse hunches.”

“Oh, I can believe that.” She started checking messages on her phone. “But we’re up to our eyes. People are screaming for a result, and we’ve had every lunatic on the planet phoning us to assist—either shopping themselves or some neighbor they don’t like. There are spiritualists who are in touch with the victims, and ghost-hunters who just need access to the site for a night. Every last shred has to be logged and added to the pile, and now you come riding back into town with a hunch?”

She shook her head slowly, then gave a laugh that only came, Rebus suspected, because the alternative would have been a bellow of frustration and rage.

“It’s pretty straightforward,” Rebus reasoned. “Search his home, garage and van. Check CCTV at the Pitlochry petrol station for the day Annette McKie disappeared. Then interview him concerning his whereabouts on the days the other women were abducted.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us has it all figured out.”

“Killers usually live in the vicinity of their disposal sites.”

“You got that from your friend Clarke.”

“Kenny Magrath knows Edderton.”

She studied him, as if for the very first time. “You look exhausted,” she said. “Exhausted and hungover. When was the last time you can truthfully say you were thinking straight? Head lucid, no jumble or muddle?”

“Are we talking about me or you?”

“We’re talking about you.”

“Because I can see how a case like this would grind you down until you just wanted it all to go away.”

“I’ve got work to do, Rebus. Actual work—not just jumping to conclusions. Don’t forget, we may still be one body short—despite that previous ‘hunch’ of yours about Sally Hazlitt.”

“Sally Hazlitt’s alive,” Rebus stated. “I met up with her in Glasgow.”

“What?”

“She was running away from her father’s attentions. As of now, she’s still running.”

“Why am I only hearing this now?”

“Because it doesn’t change the facts. There’s a killer out there and I’ve just given you a name.”

“I need more than a name! I’ve got dozens of names! How dare you not tell me about meeting that girl!”

“You should have asked for the files,” he couldn’t help snapping back at her.

Her face darkened further as she turned towards her driver. “Alex, stop the car! At once!” Then, to Rebus: “This is where you get out.”

The car had screeched to a halt. Rebus made no effort to open the door.

“I’m telling you,” he plowed on, “the longer you leave this, the more stupid you’re going to look.”

“Alex,” Dempsey said, her tone alerting her driver to what was needed. He got out and came round to Rebus’s side of the car, hauling open the door.

“Bring him in,” Rebus was saying as Dempsey’s man gripped him by his lapels. He shared a final few seconds of eye contact with her before finding himself on the pavement, the driver slamming the door closed. Rebus bent a little so he could peer in, but Dempsey was facing the other way.