There was no sign of the golem. Presumably he was back at his post. The barmaid was eating a bag of crisps. Rebus saw that his beer was no longer where he had left it.

“Thought you’d finished,” she took pleasure in explaining.

“Can I buy you one?” he asked.

She didn’t manage to conceal her surprise, but eventually shook her head.

“Pity,” Rebus said, nodding towards her piercings. “I wanted to see if you leak when you drink.”

Out front, the doorman was busy speaking into his phone. “He’s right here,” he said when he spotted Rebus. He handed the phone to him.

“Hello?”

“Donny’s not convinced you’re a cop.”

“Officially, I’m not. But I’m on secondment to the team investigating Annette’s disappearance.”

“Any way you can prove that?”

“Talk to DI Clarke. Either her or DCI Page. Who am I speaking to, by the way?”

“Darryl Christie.”

Rebus remembered him from the press conference: spiky-haired and whey-faced. “Sorry about your sister, Darryl.”

“Thanks. So what’s your name, then?”

“Rebus. I was CID but now I work cold cases.”

“So how come Page and his lot need you?”

“That’s something you’d have to ask them.” Rebus paused. “You don’t sound enamored…”

“I would be if Page spent as much time grafting as he does on his skincare regime.”

“I’d probably be wise to offer no comment.”

Darryl Christie made a snorting noise. He didn’t sound like an eighteen-year-old. Or rather, he sounded like an eighteen-year-old who had grown up fast and self-confident.

“Does Frank Hammell share your concerns about the investigation?” Rebus inquired.

“What’s it to you?”

“I just reckon he’s a man who has his own ways of getting to the bottom of things.”

“And?”

“And I think he should share whatever he finds. Might hamper the eventual trial otherwise.” Rebus paused again. “Of course, Mr. Hammell’s probably of the opinion a proper trial won’t be necessary, not when he can act as judge and jury.”

Rebus waited for Darryl Christie to say something. He had turned his back on Doorman Donny and walked with the borrowed phone towards the roundabout, watching the traffic negotiate its way in and out of town. Eventually he spoke into the silence.

“Frank Hammell’s a man with enemies, Darryl. You know that as well as I do. Is that what he’s thinking—one of them’s got their hands on Annette?” More silence. “See, my feeling is, he’s wrong to head that way, and I don’t want you and your mum following him.”

“If you know anything, spit it out.”

“Maybe I should talk to him first…”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Will you let me give you my number, just in case?” There was another pause on the line, before Darryl Christie told Rebus to go ahead. He recited his mobile number and spelled out his name. “Frank might have heard of me.”

Christie took a moment to form his next question. Rebus watched the passing parade of headlamps while he waited.

“Are your lot going to find my sister?”