“Thanks, but this shouldn’t take long.” There were plans of the roadworks on the room’s only table. Soames rolled them up, making space.

“Sit yourselves down,” he said.

“So the crew are Polish?” Rebus asked. Soames gave a questioning look, and Rebus nodded towards the dictionary on the worktop. English–Polish/Polish–English.

“Not all of them,” Soames answered. “But some, yes. And their English sometimes falls a bit short.”

“So what’s the Polish for tarmacadam?”

Soames smiled. “Stefan acts as their foreman. He’s got better English than I have.”

“They sleep on site?”

“Long way to travel home every day.”

“And cook meals here? Basically live by the side of the road?”

Soames nodded. “That’s how it is.”

“What about yourself, Mr. Soames?” Clarke asked.

“I’m over near Dundee. It’s a slog but I make it home most nights.”

“There must be a night-shift supervisor?”

Soames nodded and checked his watch. “He’ll be here in an hour and a half. I’d rather he didn’t catch me having a chinwag when I’m supposed to be out there.”

“Point taken,” Clarke said, without making it sound like an apology. “So you’ve heard about Annette McKie?”

“Of course.”

“Has anyone talked to you?”

“You mean police?” Soames shook his head. “You’re the first.”

“She was probably hitching north out of Pitlochry. That means she would have had to pass right by here.”

“If she was on foot, someone would have noticed.”

“That’s what we were thinking.”

“Well, she didn’t. I asked the men.”

“All of them?”

“All of them,” Soames confirmed. “Time she was in the area, it would have been the day crew.”

“The night crew’s Portakabin has windows, though,” Rebus countered. “Did you ask them too?”

“No,” Soames admitted. “But I will, if you like. Give me a number and I’ll get back to you.”

“Be easier if you did it just now.”

“Some might still be asleep.”

“Wake them up.” Rebus paused. “Please.”

Soames thought for a moment before making his decision. He pressed his palms against the tabletop and started rising to his feet.

“And while we’re waiting,” Rebus added, “maybe we could have a word with Stefan…”

When Soames had closed the door, Clarke moved closer to the heater, warming her hands.

“Can you imagine it? Working all hours and in all weathers?”

Rebus was doing a circuit of the room, examining health and safety notices pinned to a corkboard, letters and forms piled high next to the dictionary. There was a phone charger but no phone. The calendar showed a photo of a blond model atop a bright red motorbike.

“It’s a job,” he commented. “These days, that’s something.”

“So what’s your thinking?”

“There’s no way she could walk past here without being spotted.”

Clarke nodded. “Maybe she took a detour across the field at the back.”

“Why would she do that?”

“To avoid the wolf-whistles.” She looked at him. “It still happens.”

“You’d know better than me.”

“Yes, I would.” She looked around the room. “What do you think they do here between shifts?”