“Let’s hope you’re right,” Clarke had replied. The shop windows were illuminated, and locals walked past carrying bags of groceries. Rebus and Clarke had checked out Magrath’s workshop, but there was nowhere to park that wasn’t conspicuous. Rebus was passing the time explaining to Clarke that it was Darryl Christie who had abducted Thomas Robertson.

“Darryl’s the one who’s always surfing the web—that’s how he’d have learned we’d lifted someone from the road crew at Pitlochry. Easy enough to find him, have him followed to the Tummel Arms and then snatch him.”

“And smack him about?”

“To get him to talk. But then comes news that it can’t have been him after all, so they dump him in Aberdeen.”

“Why Aberdeen?”

Rebus watched as a car drove past—no one he knew inside. “Maybe because Frank Hammell has friends there, meaning we’d go on thinking it was him behind it and not his spotty wee lieutenant.”

Clarke nodded her understanding.

“Something I wanted to ask you,” Rebus went on.

“What?”

“Fox told me he was easing off for the time being—you didn’t have a word with him, did you?”

“No.”

“Says he wants me back in CID so he can nab me good and proper.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Have you signed the forms?”

“There’s still a good chance I’ll fail the physical.”

“Hard to disagree.”

“Thanks a bunch.”

Another car: driven by a young woman.

“Will Magrath pass by here?” Clarke asked.

“Depends where he’s been working.”

“Assuming he’s started back to work in the first place.”

“I didn’t say the plan was perfect.” Rebus checked the time. Daylight was fading fast. When he looked up again, he saw the black Mercedes M-Class.

“Clickety-click,” he told Clarke, turning away so his face wouldn’t be visible to anyone in the approaching vehicle. Clarke had her own head angled forward, as if fussing with the Audi’s stereo.

“Four of them, I think,” she said as she straightened up again, peering into the rear-view mirror.

“Darryl in the passenger seat,” Rebus confirmed.

“Not a bad start.” She exhaled, releasing some of the tension. “They’re even a bit early.”

“They need time to scope the place out.”

“If Christie’s the cautious sort, he’ll be looking for traps.” She was starting the ignition.

“What’s your thinking?”

“Move the car a bit further along, maybe tuck ourselves down a side road. We know what we’re on the lookout for—a huge black Merc heading south.”

“You’re worried they’ll come back and spot us?”

“Yes.”

Rebus nodded his agreement. It didn’t take long to find what they needed. They parked again, facing the main drag, and Clarke switched the engine off, before changing her mind and switching it on again.

“A bit of warmth,” she explained, turning the heater up.