The room was about sixteen feet by twelve, and smelled stuffy. The shutters across the windows were closed, giving the place no natural light. A No Smoking sign sat on one of four desks. On another sat an ashtray with three butts in it. One entire wall was shelved, filled with books, pamphlets, magazines. There were boxes of press cuttings, and maps on the walls showing Yugoslavia’s changing demarcation lines. Rebus lifted down the most recent box of cuttings.

Like a lot of people he knew, Rebus didn’t know much about the war in ex-Yugoslavia. He’d seen some of the news reports, been shocked by the pictures, then had got on with his life. But if the cuttings were to be believed, the whole region was being run by war criminals. The Implementation Force seemed to have done its damnedest to avoid confrontation. There had been a few arrests recently, but nothing substantial: out of a meagre seventy-four suspects charged, only seven had been apprehended.

He found nothing about slave traders, so thanked the secretary and gave her back her key, then crawled through the city traffic. When the call came on his mobile, he nearly went off the road.

Candice had disappeared.

Mrs Petrec was distraught. They’d had dinner last night, breakfast this morning, and Dunya had seemed fine.

‘There was a lot she said she couldn’t tell us,’ Mr Petrec said, standing behind his seated wife, hands stroking her shoulders. ‘She said she wanted to forget.’

And then she’d gone out for a walk down to the harbour, and hadn’t returned. Lost maybe, though the village was small. Mr Petrec had been working; his wife had gone out, asking people if they’d seen her.

‘And Mrs Muir’s son,’ she said, ‘he told me she’d been taken away in a car.’

‘Where was this?’ Rebus asked.

‘Just a couple of streets away,’ Mr Petrec said.

‘Show me.’

Outside his home on Seaford Road, Eddie Muir, aged eleven, told Rebus what he’d seen. A car stopping beside a woman. A bit of chat, though he couldn’t hear it. The door opening, the woman getting in.

‘Which door, Eddie?’

‘One of the back ones. Had to be, there were two of them in the car already.’

‘Men?’

Eddie nodded.

‘And the woman got in by herself? I mean, they didn’t grab her or anything?’

Eddie shook his head. He was straddling his bike, keen to be going. One foot kept testing a pedal.

‘Can you describe the car?’

‘Big, a bit flash. Not from round here.’

‘And the men?’

‘Didn’t really get a good look. Driver was wearing a Pars shirt.’

Meaning a football shirt, Dunfermline Athletic. Which would mean he was from Fife. Rebus frowned. A pick-up? Could that be it? Candice back to her old ways so soon? Not likely, not in a place like this, on a street like this. It was no chance encounter. Mrs Petrec was right: she’d been snatched. Which meant someone had known where to find her. Had Rebus been followed yesterday? If he had, they’d been invisible. Some device on his car? It seemed unlikely, but he checked wheel-arches and the underbody: nothing. Mrs Petrec had calmed a little, her husband having administered medicinal vodka. Rebus could use a shot himself, but turned down the offer.