“Five minutes,” he said into the receiver, ending the call. Then he asked Bliss if the office had ever dealt with missing persons.

“You don’t think we’ve got enough on our plates?” Bliss poked a toe against one of half a dozen musty-smelling storage boxes piled next to him.

“Maybe Magrath worked MisPers before he came here.”

“Regular CID as far as I recall.”

“You knew him?”

“Still do. He calls me at home now and again to check SCRU’s still here. He was the one who signed me up—almost the last thing he did before taking the gold watch. After him came Eddie Tranter, and then it was Cowan’s turn.”

“Are my ears burning?” Cowan walked through the doorway. He was stirring a cappuccino with a white plastic spoon. Rebus knew he would proceed to lick that spoon until not a trace of foam was left on it, before depositing it in the bin. Then he would slurp the coffee while checking his computer for e-mails. And the room would fill with the aromas of smoky bacon and vinegary prawn.

“Cigarette break,” Rebus said, shrugging his arms into his jacket.

“Mind you don’t take too long,” Cowan cautioned.

“Missing me already?” Rebus asked, blowing a kiss and making for the door.

The main reception area wasn’t huge, and she was easy to spot, being the only person seated on the single row of chairs. She sprang to her feet as Rebus approached. The bag on her lap fell to the floor, and she crouched down, scrabbling for its contents. Scraps of paper, several pens, lighter, sunglasses and a mobile phone. Rebus decided to let her do it unaided, then get back to her feet, rearrange her clothes and hair, and compose herself.

“My name’s Nina Hazlitt,” she told him, shooting out a hand for him to shake.

“John Rebus,” he replied. Her grip was firm, several gold bangles dancing on her wrist. Her reddish-blond hair was cut in what Rebus would have called a bob. Late forties at a guess, with laughter lines either side of her pale blue eyes.

“DI Magrath’s retired?” Rebus nodded by way of answer, and she handed him the business card. It was smudged from age, its edges curled. “I did try phoning…”

“Long time since those numbers were active. What brings you here, Ms. Hazlitt?” He returned the card and slid his hands into his pockets.

“I spoke with DI Magrath in 2004. He was very generous with his time.” The words were tumbling out of her. “He wasn’t able to help in the end, but he did what he could. Not everyone was like that—and it’s no different now. So I thought maybe I’d come to him.” She paused. “He’s really retired?”

Rebus nodded again. “Six years back.”

“Six years…” She was staring past him, eyes unfocused, as if wondering where the time had gone.

“I was told you’re here concerning a missing person,” he prompted her.

She blinked her way back into the here and now. “My daughter, Sally.”