‘So the car had been there all morning?’

‘That’s right. Then in the afternoon –’

‘What time precisely?’

‘No idea. I think there was horse-racing or something on the telly.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, I looked out and there was another car had turned up. Or maybe it was the same one come back.’

‘You still couldn’t see?’

‘I saw it better the second time. Don’t know what make it was, but it was blue, light blue. I’m fairly sure of that.’

Cars would need checking . . . Jamie Kilpatrick’s Daimler wasn’t blue. Gregor Jack’s Saab wasn’t blue. Rab Kinnoul’s Land-Rover wasn’t blue.

‘Anyway,’ Corbie was saying, ‘then there was more shouting the odds. I reckon it was coming from the BMW, because at one point the volume went right up on the radio.’

Rebus nodded appreciation of the observation.

‘Then what?’

Corbie shrugged. ‘It went quiet again. Next time I looked out, the other car was gone and the BMW was still there. Later on, I took a wander into the yard and through the field. Took a closer look. The passenger door was a bit open. Didn’t look as though anyone was there, so I crossed the road. Keys were in the ignition . . .’ He gave a final shrug. He had told his all.

And an interesting all it was. Two other cars? Or had the car from the morning returned in the afternoon? Who had Liz Jack been calling from the phone-box? What had she been arguing about? The volume rising on the radio . . . to mask an argument, or because, in the course of a struggle, the knob had been moved? His head was beginning to birl again. He suggested they have some coffee. Three plastic cups were brought, with sugar and a plate containing four digestive biscuits.

Corbie seemed relaxed in the hard-back chair, one leg slung over the other, and smoking yet another cigarette. So far Knox had eaten all the biscuits . . .

‘Right,’ said Rebus, ‘now what about the microwave . . .?’

The microwave was easy. The microwave was more treasure, again found by the side of the road.

‘You don’t expect us to believe that?’ Knox sneered. But Rebus could believe it.

‘It’s the truth,’ Corbie said easily, ‘whether you believe it or not, Sergeant Knox. I was out in the car this morning, and saw it lying in a ditch. I couldn’t believe it. Someone had just dumped it there. Well, it looked good enough, so I thought I’d take it home.’

‘But why did you hide it?’

Corbie shifted in his seat. ‘I knew my mum would think I’d nicked it. Well, anyway, she’d never believe I just found it. So I decided to keep it out of her way till I could come up with a story . . .’

‘There was a break-in last night,’ Rebus said, ‘at Deer Lodge. Do you know it?’

‘That MP owns it, the one from the brothel.’