“They’re e-fits,” she explained. “There’s a guy I know on a force down south, he’s a dab hand with the software.”

Rebus stared at the three faces in turn. Sally Hazlitt, Brigid Young and Zoe Beddows had been aged so that each photo showed them as they might look in the present day. Hazlitt was the most changed—not surprising, since she had been missing the longest. A woman of thirty, eyes and cheekbones still much like her mother’s. Beddows and Young were more recognizably the same women who had disappeared. A few lines had been added to Young’s face, her eyes hollower, mouth sagging slightly. Beddows was shown in her late twenties, still sharp-featured but losing some of her spark.

“What do you think?” Esson was asking.

“Pretty good,” Rebus admitted.

“He did some others—different hairstyles…”

Rebus nodded, and she knew what he was thinking.

“Pretty pointless if they’re dead,” she commented.

“I think you should circulate them. But get Page’s permission first.”

“Mr. Trampled Underfoot?” She gave Rebus a smile. “I did my research last night.”

Page’s door opened and he fixed his eyes on Rebus, then gave a little flick of the head by way of summons. Rebus helped himself to a mug of coffee first, then knocked and went in. There was no space for a chair for visitors. Yesterday, with three of them in there, it had been a sweat box. Yet somehow it suited Page, a man who liked his parameters tight, no room for maneuver.

“John,” he said, sitting down behind his laptop.

“Yes, James?”

“Good to see you here so early.”

Rebus just nodded, ready for whatever was coming.

“Shows motivation, but we need focus also.”

“Absolutely.”

Page’s words were just filling time while he considered how to broach the real subject. Rebus decided to spare him any more effort.

“Is it to do with the Complaints?” he guessed.

“In a way.” Meaning: yes, specifically and definitely.

“Sorry if I seem to be bringing a bit of baggage with me,” Rebus said. “Rest assured it won’t interfere with my work.”

“Good man. And how’s that work going?”

“Slower than I’d like.”

“You appreciate that Annette McKie has to be our priority?”

“Of course.”

“And we can’t let your historical cases get in the way.”

“Nina Hazlitt isn’t going to take a telling from me. She’s been waiting years for this opportunity.”

“Is she still in Edinburgh?”

“As far as I know, she went back to London last night.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.” He pressed his palms together as if in prayer, resting his mouth against the tips of his fingers.

“Don’t suppose you’ve seen Siobhan this morning?” Rebus asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Page shook his head and checked his watch. “Not like her to be tardy.”

“Unless she was late to bed.”