“Why do I get the feeling you’re leaving the interesting stuff till last?”

She looked up at him. “Maybe I will take that coffee,” she said.

Rebus obliged. On his return, he saw that she was busy on her desk computer. She accepted the mug with a nod of thanks.

“Thomas Robertson,” she said, “works the day shift. Doesn’t like nights; prefers to spend them in the watering holes of Pitlochry. There’s a particular barmaid he’s keen on, though he didn’t say if the feeling is mutual. He told me he was in trouble just the once, resisting arrest after a fight with a girlfriend outside a club in Aberdeen.”

“And?”

“He wasn’t telling the whole truth.” She tapped a fingernail against the computer screen and angled it a little so Rebus could have a better view. Robertson had been charged with attempted rape, the victim someone he’d met that night, the assault happening in an alleyway behind the club. He’d served two years in HMP Peterhead, and had been out of prison less than twelve months. Rebus did a quick calculation in his head. Zoe Beddows had vanished in June 2008, only a couple of months prior to Robertson’s arrest.

“What do you think?” Clarke was asking.

“What does he say about Annette McKie?”

“Denies seeing her. Says they were working flat out that afternoon. He doubts he’d have noticed a supermodel strolling past.”

Rebus was looking at Robertson’s mug shot: short black hair, plenty of stubble, and a scowl. Dark-brown eyes, chiseled features.

“I think we need to talk to him again, a bit more formally,” Clarke was saying. “And maybe have a team search the area around the roadworks. It’s a mix of woodland and fields, plus a stretch of river.”

“Needle-in-a-haystack stuff,” Rebus commented. He realized Christine Esson was standing just behind him, holding out some sheets of paper. He took them from her.

“Two essays,” she explained. “Both looking at where killers choose to leave their victims. Bit of light reading for you.”

“Any chance of you giving me the gist?”

“I’ve not looked at them, just printed them off. Plenty more like them out there if you’re interested.”

Rebus was about to tell her that he really wasn’t, but he noticed the look Clarke was giving him.

“Very helpful,” he said instead.

“Thanks, Christine,” Clarke added, as Esson returned to her desk. Then, to Rebus: “She’s like that.”

“There’s about thirty pages here, half of it equations.”

Clarke took the two documents from him. “I know one of the authors—by reputation, I mean. I wonder if James has considered bringing in a profiler…”

“And maybe a Ouija board at the same time.”

“Times have changed, John.”

“For the better, I’m sure.”

She made to hand the essays back to him, and he wrinkled his nose.

“You take first look,” he said. “You know how much I value your opinion.”

“Christine gave them to you.”

Rebus looked over to Esson’s desk. She was watching. He managed a smile and a nod as he placed the printouts on top of one of the storage boxes.