“Here they come,” Clarke said, eyes on the wing mirror. Not just the Merc and the van, but a few other vehicles in their wake. It was completely dark now, no chance the Audi could have been clocked, not the speed the convoy was going. Clarke switched her lights on again and got back on the road.

“No shortage of disposal sites between here and there,” she offered.

“He’s not got the experience, Siobhan. Something tells me he’ll stick to what he knows, places he’s been shown or told about.”

Twenty minutes later, they passed a sign telling them the Aviemore spur was just ahead.

“Where it all started,” Siobhan Clarke said.

“I suppose,” Rebus replied, watching as a few flakes of snow began to fall. A couple of cars were signaling to turn left.

“The Merc?” Clarke guessed.

“I’d put money on it—just not necessarily my money.”

But yes, the Merc was turning off, while the van stayed on the A9 and its appointment with a scrapyard or similar.

“We’re sure Magrath’s not trussed up in the back of his own van?” Clarke asked.

“As sure as we can be.”

The Audi followed the Merc, still a couple of other vehicles separating them.

“I think this is working,” Clarke offered. “Insofar as they haven’t spotted us.” All too soon, though, the covering vehicles were peeling off into new-build housing developments, leaving only the Merc and the Audi—fifty yards between them.

“Should I stop and let him get ahead?”

“I don’t know,” Rebus admitted.

“We could overtake and block the route—don’t tell me Magrath won’t be scared rigid by now.”

“Not yet.”

She looked at him again. His eyes were fixed on the Merc, his left hand still gripping the door handle. They were in deepening countryside, heading away from Aviemore into a wilderness of mountain and forest.

“I could overtake again,” Clarke suggested, breaking off as she saw that, without signaling, the car in front was turning off the road onto a dirt track. There was a gate, but it had been left open. Clarke drove past and kept driving, while Rebus watched the 4x4’s taillights until they were swallowed up by trees.

“We’re safe,” he said. Clarke stopped the car and did a three-point turn, switching off her lights and crawling towards the open gate.

“Just like Hammell said,” she muttered. The Merc had disappeared from view. Clarke slid down her window and listened for its engine. “Still on the move.”

“Then we move, too.”

The Audi began to head cautiously up the track, both front windows lowered. Despite the flurries and the sharp night air, Rebus stuck his head out, watching and listening. The route wound uphill into a pine-scented forest, reminding him of Edderton. When they reached a fork, Clarke stopped the car, turning off the engine as a precaution.

“Hear anything?”

“No,” Rebus told her.

“No lights either.”

“You think they’ve stopped?” He had lowered his voice.

“Maybe.”

“Do we go left or right?”

“You tell me.”