“He wouldn’t happen to be hiding out at your place?” Rebus asked Andrews.

“Your pal here just made the selfsame accusation.” She turned towards them and folded her arms: nothing defensive about the body language; quite the opposite, if her face was anything to go by.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ then.” Rebus pointed towards the display of rolls. “Mind if I buy one?”

“You can get them at the bakery.”

“The roast beef with horseradish,” he told her.

Their staring contest lasted a good ten seconds, during which time he placed some money on the bar. She relented and handed him the first roll that came to hand. It was ham and mustard, but Rebus thanked her anyway.

“Ms. Andrews,” Clarke informed him, “was telling me she reckons he’ll have headed back to the northeast. He has friends there he keeps in touch with.”

“Any names?” Rebus asked.

“Not that she can recall.”

Rebus’s look said it all: that’s a big help.

Then he bit into the roll.

Their next stop was the road crew, Bill Soames and Stefan Skiladz providing another less-than-enthusiastic welcome.

“You planning to scare off every man I’ve got working here?” Soames asked, hands stuffed into jacket pockets. The traffic was its usual diesel growl, choking the air and ensuring they had to shout. The weather was closing in, the temperature dropping and fog creeping towards them across the valley.

“Way it looks to me,” Clarke responded, “it was his workmates who sent him packing.”

“Tommy never needed much excuse to go into the town,” Skiladz said.

“There’s been no word from him?” Rebus asked.

“Nothing.”

“His car’s at the back of the Tummel Arms.”

“No surprise there.”

“He didn’t go in, though,” Clarke added.

“Well he didn’t come back here either.”

“Sure about that?”

Soames gave Rebus a hard stare. “You saying we’re lying?”

Rebus tried to make his shrug seem casual. “Or being lied to, maybe. Is any of his stuff missing?”

Soames left it to Skiladz to answer.

“Nothing,” the Pole said.

“See, if I was thinking of doing a runner,” Rebus went on, “I’d want to pack a few things first.”

“Maybe he wasn’t thinking straight,” Soames said. “You lot had just given him a grilling, dredging up his past…”

“And it was all tea and sympathy when he got back here?” Rebus’s smile was thin and humorless.

“We’re not covering for him. Look around you.” Soames made a sweeping motion with one arm. “Piss-poor place for a game of hide-and-seek.”

“Did your search team find anything?” Skiladz interrupted.

“No,” Clarke admitted.

“Because there’s nothing to find. You’re wasting time and effort and I don’t think the girl ever made it this far—not on foot.”

“And that means you’ve fucked over an innocent man,” Soames added. Then, with a glance towards Clarke: “Pardon my French.”