“I’m just saying.” She gave a weary smile. Then, studying the map again: “You’re still thinking the A9?”

“Or just off it.”

“So that’s—what?—six suggested locations.”

“Six and counting.”

She nodded slowly, glancing behind her to ensure no one else in the team was close enough to hear. All the same, she lowered her voice. “What if it doesn’t mean anything? We narrow it down, maybe even convince ourselves we’ve got the right spot…what if it tells us nothing?”

“Then we try something else.”

“What, though?”

“Have a bit of faith, Siobhan. If you can say at the end that you put in the hours and tried your damnedest…”

“I’m sure the family will send us a nice Thank You card.”

“They might and they might not.” Rebus placed a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever you do tonight, make sure it’s a long way from this.”

She nodded her agreement. “Same goes for you,” she told him.

“Absolutely,” he said. “I might even have a nice wee drive out into the country…”

A couple of city pubs first, though. There was a different face on the door at the Gimlet. He was on his phone and didn’t seem to sense any threat in Rebus. The pub itself was busy, same barmaid as on his previous visit. He gave her a wink of recognition but didn’t stay for a drink. His second watering hole of choice was even less gentrified. The Tytler sat in the middle of a housing scheme in the north of the city, half of which was due to be torn down. The Tytler’s clients looked similarly ready to have a demolition notice slapped on them. Again Rebus chose not to linger; a quick word with the monosyllabic barman and he was off again. A longer drive this time, heading west out of the city into the badlands of West Lothian. Broxburn, Bathgate, Blackburn and Whitburn. Tribal towns; ex-mining communities. Jo-Jo Binkie’s was the name above the door of a converted art deco cinema on a main street predominated by closed businesses and For Sale signs. Three hulking doormen gave him their best stare. They all bore armbands on their coats identifying them as SECURITY, and earpieces with a thin cord which disappeared into the space between neck and collar.

“All right, pal?” one of them asked Rebus. Plenty of scar tissue on the man’s face, and a nose that had been broken at least once.

“Fine,” Rebus said, making to pass him. But a hand stopped him.

“Meeting someone?” the doorman inquired.

“Maybe.”

“See, it’s Couples’ Night, so unless it’s a threesome you’re after…”

“Old folks’ home is down the road,” one of the other bouncers added. “They might do a bit of dancing there.”

Rebus broke into a smile. “Mind if I steal that one for my book?”

“What book would that be?”