Police i/ving road crew A9 north of Pitlochry! #annettemckie

“Then there’s this,” she added, highlighting another.

Police team scouring woods near A9 north of Pitlochry—loads of them #annettemckie

“Posted by different people,” Clarke commented.

“Locals, by the look of it,” Esson added. “Here’s another.”

Cop car near totaled me doing a U-turn, heading S from roadworks. Siren and lights—they’ve got s/o!! #annettemckie

“Looks like Tayside Police went about things with their usual subtlety,” Rebus muttered, straightening up.

“I don’t think you realize, John.” Clarke turned to Esson. “Show him.”

With a few deft clicks and taps, Esson did just that. “Half a dozen blogs are onto it,” she said, “plus local media. Ronnie has had to fob off a couple of reporters already.”

As if on cue, the phone rang again on Ronnie Ogilvie’s desk. He picked it up, said a few words, then put the receiver down. Rising to his feet, he walked towards them.

“BBC,” he said. “Wanting to know if it’s true we’re connecting Annette McKie to three other disappearances.”

“They didn’t get that from Twitter,” Esson said.

“Nina Hazlitt?” Clarke guessed, eyes fixed on Rebus. He offered a shrug.

“Spoken to her recently?” Clarke persisted.

“Last night,” Rebus conceded.

Esson was studying the BBC Scotland news feed on her monitor. “Here it is,” she declared.

It was only a paragraph of text—no video or photo to accompany it.

The mother of a teenager who disappeared from Aviemore at Hogmanay 1999 says detectives in Edinburgh are probing links between that mystery and missing schoolgirl Annette McKie, who vanished a fortnight ago while traveling from Edinburgh to Inverness. It is believed that other women have gone missing from the same stretch of road, one in 2002 and another in 2008. Nina Hazlitt, whose 18-year-old daughter Sally disappeared from a New Year’s holiday in Aviemore, hopes that fresh clues—including photos sent from the victims’ phones—can help provide answers to what she calls “the A9 Abductions.”

There was a link to the McKie press conference, accompanied by a still of Gail McKie fleeing the room. Ogilvie’s telephone was ringing again. So was Clarke’s mobile. She was looking in the direction of James Page’s door.

“In for a penny,” she said. But there was no need. The door was flung open and DCI Page stood there, his own phone pressed to his ear as he listened. His pointed finger seemed to include Rebus, then jerked in the direction of the corridor. Clarke led the way, Rebus following close behind.

Once they were outside the office, Page ended the call and closed the door. Then he folded his arms.

“Explain,” he said.

“Explain what, sir?” Clarke countered.

“Maybe you were huddled round Christine’s screen to look at cats being funny on the internet.”

“No, James. We were looking at Twitter and the BBC.”

“Then you know what I’m talking about.”

“Of course—but I still don’t see what needs explaining. Everyone’s a reporter these days. A patrol car turns up at the same spot on the A9 two days running, people nearby are going to gossip about it. Used to be the garden fence would do, but now it’s Twitter and the like. No way we can stop it.”