‘So whoever’s been living here . . .?’

‘They could have come and gone without anyone noticing, no doubt about that.’

Pond left his headlights on while he opened the front door of the house. Suddenly, hallway and porch were illuminated. Rebus, freed from the cage, was stretching and trying to stop his knees from folding in on him.

‘Is that the stone?’

‘That’s the one,’ Pond said. It was a huge pebble-shaped piece of pinkish rock. He lifted it, showing that the spare key was still there. ‘Nice of them to leave it when they went. Come on, I’ll show you around.’

‘Just a second, Mr Pond. Could you try not to touch anything? We might want to check for fingerprints later on.’

Pond smiled. ‘Sure, but my prints’ll be everywhere anyway.’

‘Of course, but all the same . . .’

‘Besides, if Mrs Heggarty’s tidied up after our “guests”, the place’ll be polished and tidied from ceiling to floor.’

Rebus’s heart sank as he followed Pond into the cottage. There was certainly a smell of furniture polish, mingling with air-freshener. In the living room, not a cushion or an executive toy looked to be out of place.

‘Looks the same as when I left it,’ Pond said.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Pretty sure. I’m not like Liz and her crew, Inspector. I don’t go in for parties. I don’t mind other people’s, but the last thing I want to have to do is clean salmon mousse off the ceiling or explain to the village that the woman with her arse hanging out of a Bentley back window is actually an Hon.’

‘You wouldn’t be thinking of the Hon. Matilda Merriman?’

‘The same. Christ, you know them all, don’t you?’

‘I’ve yet to meet the Hon. Matilda actually.’

‘Take my advice: defer the moment. Life’s too short.’

And the hours too long, thought Rebus. Today’s hours had certainly been way too long. The kitchen was neat. Glasses sat sparkling on the draining board.

‘Shouldn’t think you’ll get many prints off them, Inspector.’

‘Mrs Heggarty’s very thorough, isn’t she?’

‘Not always so thorough upstairs. Come on, let’s see.’

Well, someone had been thorough. The beds in both bedrooms had been made. There were no cups or glasses on display, no newspapers or magazines or unfinished books. Pond made show of sniffing the air.

‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s no good, I can’t even smell her perfume.’

‘Whose?’

‘Liz’s. She always wore the same brand, I forget what it was. She always smelt beautiful. Beautiful. Do you think she was here?’

‘Someone was here. And we think she was in this area.’

‘But who was she with – that’s what you’re wondering?’

Rebus nodded.

‘Well, it wasn’t me, more’s the pity. I was having to make do with call girls. And get this – they want to check your medical certificate before they start.’

‘AIDS?’

‘AIDS. Okay, finished up here? Beginning to look like a wasted journey, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe. There’s still the bathroom . . .’