But he had shaken the hand nonetheless.

Now, as he sat in his study, he knew Darryl Christie had made the right move at the right time. The changeover had been smooth. Hammell was keeping his head down, but as yet no one was saying he wouldn’t be seen alive.

What’s yours is still yours…as things stand…

The cheek of the little bastard!

A clever sod, though; not to be underestimated or misjudged. Cafferty was embarrassed at the way he himself had played the whole thing—trying to be avuncular, an arm around a shoulder—when Darryl already had his plans in place, as cool and calculating as you liked.

It was to be admired, at least in the short term.

But when all was said and done, the lad was still in his teens. There were hard lessons he had not yet learned. Mistakes would be made, along with enemies. No one was untouchable.

No one.

Which was why Cafferty rose from his chair and checked that both front and back doors were bolted…

65

On Saturday morning, Rebus called Magrath again. This time, the phone did not ring. Instead, a different automated voice told him the number he had dialed had not been recognized and he should try again. He took more care the second time, but got the selfsame message.

“Changed your number, Gregor?” he asked quietly. Then he nodded to himself and went to take a shower.

By late lunchtime, he was parked on the seafront at Rosemarkie, directly opposite the cottage. He sounded his horn a few times, keeping watch on the windows for signs of life. All the curtains were closed. When he eventually went to check, brushing past the Land Rover, there was mail lying on the mat inside the porch. He went next door and the neighbor answered.

“Remember me?” Rebus asked. “I was here before.”

The elderly woman agreed that yes, Rebus was not a stranger.

“Just wondering if you’ve seen hide or hair of Gregor.”

“He was at the shop yesterday, collecting his paper.”

“He’s all right, then? It’s just that he’s not answering his door and the place looks deserted.”

“He’s had reporters turning up at all hours,” the woman explained. “And the phone, too—I can hear it ringing and ringing.” She paused, leaning in towards Rebus and lowering her voice. “You heard what happened?”

Rebus nodded, as he felt was expected.

“Awful business, just awful. You never think these things will…Well, you know what I mean.”

“Plenty of talk in the village, I suppose.”

The woman tilted her head back. “You wouldn’t credit it.”

“Is everybody agreed it’s beyond belief?” Rebus was doing his best to sound like a local himself. He had relaxed his stance and was resting his weight against the door frame, arms folded—just two old cronies having a chinwag.

“Beyond belief,” the woman echoed.

“No doubters?” Rebus raised an eyebrow. “It’s just that there usually are.”

“There’s hardly a family around here Kenny Magrath hasn’t helped out at one time or another.”