“He seems to have got on the bus all right. It dropped him near the works. Some of the men gave him short shrift, though—didn’t like that their Portakabin had been searched. So he didn’t hang about, told them he was going into Pitlochry. That was the last they saw of him.”

“He’s done a runner,” Clarke confirmed.

“Looks like.”

“Anyone talked to his girlfriend?”

“The barmaid, you mean? Not yet.”

“Could he be shacked up with her?”

“It would solve all our problems.”

“And if someone had checked first thing, it would be saving me this bloody drive.”

“Want me to do it then?”

“No, I’ll talk to her when I get there.”

Rebus took note of that—I, not we…

“Are you in Pitlochry?” she was now asking Lightheart.

“Yes, but I need to head back to Perth—eleven o’clock meeting I can’t be late for.”

“You do that then. We’ll talk again after.”

She ended the call and signaled to overtake the lorry in front.

“Want the CD back on?” Rebus eventually asked.

Clarke shook her head. A little later, she decided to put a question to him.

“You don’t think it’s him, do you?”

“No.”

“Because he’s got a short fuse and that’s not the sort of person who goes years between victims?”

“Right,” Rebus agreed.

She nodded slowly. “So why did he run?”

“It’s what people like him do—act on instinct; no forethought.” Rebus decided it might be okay to throw in a question of his own. “Did the search turn up anything?”

“They want to know if it’s worth putting a couple of frogmen in Loch Tummel.”

“And is it?”

“James’s call.”

“What about Robertson’s stuff?”

“Pretty much as you said. Half an ounce of cannabis, a few knock-off DVDs.”

“Porn?”

“Some.”

“Hard core?”

“No S and M, if that’s what you mean.” She looked at him again. “This from the man who doesn’t rate profilers.”

“Common sense comes cheaper.”

She managed a smile. The ice between them was melting. “That book in your flat—did Nina Hazlitt give it to you?”

“How did you know?”

“It’s on her Facebook bio that she edits books, including myths and legends.”

“Did you know that ‘Ring-a-Roses’ is about the plague?”

“I thought everybody knew that.”

Rebus decided to try again: “Sawney Bean?”

Clarke thought for a moment. “Cannibal?”

“Except he probably never existed. It was anti-Jacobite propaganda, according to one theory. Doesn’t take much to get a rumor started.”

“Is the Burry Man in your book?” Clarke asked.

“He is—you ever seen him in the flesh?”

“Last August. Took the car to Queensferry and watched him marching around, taking a drink from anyone that offered. Covered top to toe in burrs: no idea how he managed to pee…” She paused. “Could Nina Hazlitt be putting together a new bogeyman?”