“Hello again,” he said to Rebus.

“Morning, sir.”

“First names around here, John.” Page handed the milk to Clarke but kept his eyes on Rebus. “Any news from those files of yours?”

“Only that they’re far from complete. Zoe Beddows had been seeing a married man—that’s who she sent her photo to. But I only found that out by speaking to him. File just names him as one of her friends.”

“And the photo itself?”

“He didn’t keep it. From the description: hills, sky and a track.”

“Similar enough to the one Annette McKie sent,” Clarke commented.

Rebus felt compelled to qualify the statement. “If she sent it.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Page countered. “What about Aviemore and Strathpeffer?”

“I did a bit of digging on the internet,” Clarke said. “You couldn’t readily send a picture from one phone to another until 2005 or 2006.”

“Really?” Page’s brow furrowed. “As recently as that?”

“Might be worth showing the photo we do have to Zoe Beddows’s lover,” Rebus suggested. “Even if they’re unlikely to be the same spot.” He paused. “And if I can add something else…” He was aware that Siobhan Clarke was holding her breath, waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

“Yes?” Page prompted.

“We also need to get the new photo circulated. It has to ring bells with somebody.”

“There’s a press conference at twelve,” Page said, studying his watch.

“There is?” Clarke sounded annoyed at just finding out.

“The mother’s putting up a reward. Ten thousand pounds, I think.”

“A fair bit of cash,” Rebus stated. “For someone who lives in Lochend.”

“Do you want me at the press conference, James?” Clarke was asking.

“We’ll all be there—need to let people know we’re motivated.” Page broke off, noticing Rebus’s shirt and stubble. “Maybe not quite all of us, eh, John?”

“If you say so, James.”

“Public perception and suchlike…” Page gave a thin smile and turned away, heading for his own inner office. He had to put his coffee down and take a key from his pocket to unlock the door.

“I’m sure that was a cupboard when I used to work here,” Rebus said to Clarke, keeping his voice down.

“It was,” she confirmed. “But James seems to like it.”

The door closed again, with Page behind it. The room had to be near airless, and with no natural light that Rebus could recall. Yet James Page appeared to flourish there.

“Did I pass inspection?” he asked Clarke.

“Just about.”

“It’s only day one, remember—plenty of time for me to start letting the side down.”

“How about not doing that, eh? Just for once in your life.”

8

The school’s rector had offered them his office, but Clarke had declined. As she waited with Rebus in the corridor outside, she explained her reasoning.

“Too intimidating. When you’re in that room, it’s because you’re in trouble. We want him a bit more relaxed and talkative.”

Rebus nodded his agreement. He was looking out of a window towards the playground. The window was double-glazed, but condensation had found its way between the panes. The wooden frame was spongy.