“I as good as asked her the same thing.”

“And?”

“She wasn’t happy about it.”

“She’s an editor by trade.”

“So?”

“She creates order, John. If there’s one person responsible for all these disappearances, that gives some sense to what’s otherwise senseless.”

“And we’re back to psychology again.”

“Not got much else, have we?”

“We’ve got a lot of people who don’t seem to be around anymore.”

“There is that.”

When she asked him if he wanted to choose a CD, he knew he’d been forgiven his latest transgressions.

25

25

The Tummel Arms wouldn’t open for business for another hour, but its door was unlocked. It was a bright, bustling morning on Pitlochry’s Atholl Road. Neighbors stood on the pavements, grocery bags or dog leads in hand, and shared the local gossip. They were used to visitors, and hadn’t paid Clarke and Rebus a moment’s notice.

“Hello?” Clarke called out, pushing open the pub door. The place smelled of bleach. Stools and chairs had been placed on tables so the floor could be sluiced. A woman appeared from the direction of the ladies’ loo, toting a mop.

“We’re looking for Gina Andrews,” Clarke explained.

The woman pushed a stray hair behind one ear. “She’s at the baker’s. Won’t be long, though.”

“We’ll wait, if that’s okay?”

The cleaner shrugged, then disappeared again.

“Trusting souls up here,” Rebus remarked, eyeing the unguarded row of optics on the gantry.

“Not really,” Clarke replied, nodding towards the CCTV camera above the door. The door itself swung open and another woman negotiated her way inside, carrying a large plastic tray piled high with individually bagged rolls and sandwiches. She heaved it onto the bar and exhaled noisily.

“Police?” she said, turning towards her visitors.

“That’s right,” Clarke said.

“About Tommy?”

“Thomas Robertson, yes.”

“His car’s still parked out the back.”

“How long has it been there?”

“Only since last night.”

“He was in here, then?”

Gina Andrews shook her head. She was in her thirties. Short and stocky, with shoulder-length blond hair. She had that attitude necessary to good bar staff the world over: fair, but firm when the need arose; someone it wouldn’t be wise to get on the wrong side of.

“He must have driven here, but he didn’t come in. One of the regulars told me his car was there, so I sent him a text.”

“Nothing back?”

She shook her head again and started transferring the rolls to a metal salver. There was a printed label on each packet, identifying the filling.

“How much do you know about him, Ms. Andrews?”

“He’s all right. Likes a drink and a laugh.”

“Is he your…?”

Andrews looked up from her work. “My bidie-in? Nothing that serious.”

“Just a friend, then?”

“Most nights.”

“Would you say he had a temper on him?”

“If the wind’s blowing in the right direction.”