“Good idea.” The dashboard gave the outside temperature as five degrees. There would be a frost later—the skies were clear, a couple of stars already visible. Rebus held his hands in front of the air vent, rubbing them together.

Twenty minutes later, they both spotted Magrath’s van, the name prominent on its side.

“Headed for the lock-up,” Rebus stated.

“There’s still time for a change of strategy,” Clarke argued. “Confront them then and there.”

Rebus was shaking his head. “We need him scared, remember.”

“My way’s less risky.”

“Just don’t lose them.”

“Are you saying my driving’s not up to it?”

Rebus gave her a look, then focused on the road. A couple of minutes for Kenny Magrath to reach the lock-up…bundled into the car…They’d want to be quick. But what if someone from the pub had stepped out for a cigarette? Or a bus full of inquisitive locals was passing? Rebus had seldom known time to creep so slowly. And just as he was about to open his mouth and say something to that effect…

“Van!” Clarke called out. Heading back the way it had come, MAGRATH on its side. The shape behind the steering wheel was not Kenny Magrath—too short, too wiry. The black Merc was only a few seconds behind, its occupants hard to discern. Clarke began to follow, keeping her distance. When a delivery lorry came up behind her, she slowed to let it overtake. She’d studied the road map, knew there were few options for the Merc. There were maneuvers the driver could make to check he wasn’t being followed—slowing to a near stop; pulling over and biding his time; doubling back and finding a different route. But right now the Audi was hidden from view by the delivery lorry.

The first real decision came at Munlochy; the Merc stayed on the A832.

“Next it’ll be the Tore roundabout,” Rebus said. “Then the A9 south.”

“If your hunch is right,” Clarke cautioned.

“So little faith.” Rebus managed the beginnings of a smile, but Clarke knew he was nervous—it wasn’t her driving that was making him grip the passenger-side door handle.

When they reached the dual carriageway, the convoy followed the signs to Inverness. Rebus craned his neck to see what was happening past the lorry.

“They’re leaving it for dead,” he informed Clarke, so she signaled and moved out to overtake. The Mercedes had passed the van but seemed to want to stay close to it.

“They could be strangling Magrath right now, you know,” Clarke commented.

“They could,” Rebus agreed.

“Might have nothing but a corpse on our hands at the other end.”

“We might at that.”

“I don’t suppose you’d lose much sleep.”

“I’m not a monster, Siobhan—but I suppose I’d cope somehow…”

Over the Kessock Bridge and into Inverness, staying on the A9 and heading south out of the city.