“Summoned to the Chief Constable’s office. He wanted a briefing of his own.” She took the two flights of stairs at a canter. He knew she used a gym sometimes, or had done in the past.

“Still go jogging?” he asked.

“Some weekends—nothing too strenuous.” She looked over his shoulder towards the flat’s interior. “Do I wait for an invite, or…?”

Rebus hesitated for a second, then led her inside. As they reached the living room, he asked her if she wanted a drink.

“I’m okay,” she said.

“Just a social visit, is it?”

She shrugged, seeming distracted. “The photo from Annette McKie’s phone is out there now.”

“Yes,” Rebus said. “Now we wait for someone to pinpoint where it is.” He paused. “There’s something you want to tell me.”

“While we were at Fettes,” she eventually explained, “Malcolm Fox happened by.”

“Oh?”

“As you guessed, he wasn’t exactly thrilled I’d been talking to you.”

“I’d say he’s the type who’s seldom ‘thrilled’ by anything.”

“He had a word with James, too, asked why you’d been brought into the McKie case.”

“Is he trying to get me thrown off it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“But at the very least, Page now sees me as a bigger liability than ever?”

“I did have to fight your corner.” She had settled on the arm of the sofa, as if planning only a short stay. Rebus’s book was on the floor by his chair and she angled her head to read the cover.

“Myth and Magic?”

“And old wives’ tales,” Rebus added. “So did you manage to convince your boss?”

“I think so.”

“And did that involve using your feminine charms?”

She gave him a cold look.

“Sorry,” Rebus apologized. “It’s just that he’s a showroom dummy—I know it and you know it.”

“But he’s not. You’re seeing what you want to see. Has there ever been anyone of a higher rank that you’ve not dismissed out of hand?”

“Plenty.” Rebus paused. “In the old days.”

“These aren’t the old days, John. And James is good at what he does. You’ve seen the team he’s put together—do they seem unmotivated?”

“No,” Rebus was forced to admit.

“Is there anything they’re not doing that they should be?”

“No,” he repeated.

“Well then.”

“Page is one of the good guys, that’s what you’re saying…”

But her attention had been diverted to the wall above the dining table and the large map of Scotland pinned there, the route of the A9 marked in red highlighter.

“Meant to take that down,” Rebus said. Clarke was walking towards the map, looking not at it but at the three large shopping bags sitting on the table.

“Stuff needs putting away,” Rebus said casually, but he wasn’t fooling her. She pulled a few sheets of paper from the first bag.