For some reason—mostly because he had failed to make any other decision—he was back on the A9, but heading further north. Soon though he turned off into Dornoch, passing what he assumed must be its cathedral (though no bigger than a village kirk) and stopping in the near-deserted square. A hotel and a shop seemed to be open, but the streets were empty. He found he could get a signal, and got out of the car to walk up and down a bit while he made the call.

“Well?” Siobhan Clarke asked.

“I’m pretty sure.”

“But not absolutely certain?”

“No.”

“So what now?”

“I’ve taken a few photos on my phone so you can see what I mean.”

“Are you heading back?”

“Not quite yet. I’ve stopped in Dornoch.”

“At this rate you’ll not be home till midnight.”

Rebus thought of the overnight bag on the Saab’s backseat. “Thing is, Siobhan, there’s no way she could have sent that picture on her phone. Not from Edderton, not at the time she did.”

“Okay.”

“So how else could it have been sent? All I can come up with is it’s not an actual photo as such.”

“What is it then?”

“A photo of a photo. Might explain why it looks slightly blurry.”

“And sent why?”

“To throw us off the scent. Because we’d then spend days scouring the countryside around Pitlochry looking for it, reckoning it for the crime scene.”

Clarke was silent for a moment. “We could check that,” she said. “Just need someone who knows about photography.”

“Agreed.”

“So it doesn’t really get us anywhere?”

“It tells us we’re dealing with someone who puts a bit of thought in. And whoever they are, looks like they have this calling card. That’s two things we didn’t know before.”

“I’d probably trade them for a name and address, though.”

“You and me both.” He had crossed the road and was standing beneath a signpost. TO THE BEACH was one option.

“Isn’t Dornoch where Madonna got married to that film director?” Clarke was asking.

“I’ll ask next time I see her. Meantime, any news your end?”

“Still no sign of Thomas Robertson. But other locations for the photo are coming in.”

“Any good ones?”

“Nothing we haven’t heard before. Durness got another vote, though.”

“Does that put it level with Edderton?”

“Just tucked in behind. Oh, one other thing—you remember Alasdair Blunt?”

“The charmer who reckons Zoe Beddows ruined his marriage?”

“We showed him the photo from Annette’s phone.”

“And?”

“He said he couldn’t be sure.”

“I’ll tell you who might have a better memory of it…”

“His ex-wife? Her name’s Judith Inglis.”

“You’re earning your sweeties today, Siobhan. What was her opinion?”