‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘It’s near a caravan park. That would be a good place to bolt to, but not easy to keep Elspeth and Meggy quiet and unseen there. There’s a stables. The main road runs down to Rosslyn Chapel.’

‘Of Dan Brown and The Da Vinci Code fame? You think maybe Harris has got himself caught up in hidden meanings and divine symbols?’

‘It’s a church. Maybe that’s what he’s drawn to. The natural venue for the end of life. We’re christened there, we’re married there in traditional ceremonies, and our bodies are blessed there before they begin their final journeys.’

‘Busy place, though. Rosslyn Chapel must be packed out every day of the week. I don’t see how—’

‘Turn right,’ Connie said.

‘How soon?’

‘Here … now!’

They turned into Pentland Road, Baarda leaning forward to peer through the rain-washed windscreen.

‘This is pretty industrial. What are we looking for?’ he asked.

Through traffic lights, past a supermarket on the right, a factory, furniture store.

‘It’s a long shot,’ Connie said.

The road began to narrow and meander. She wiped the condensation from her window with a sleeve.

‘It must be here somewhere. No, there’s the Secret Herb Garden. We’ve missed it. Go back, slower this time.’

Baarda did a U-turn and they crawled along.

‘There, on the left. Stop here!’

He pulled the car up on the verge, and Connie jumped out.

‘Connie, there’s nothing here. What are we looking for?’

‘This,’ she said, pointing at a wooden sign that bore the simple marker: Old Pentland Cemetery. ‘There’s a gate, come on.’

‘Is there any guarantee he’s here?’

‘No, but you were right about Rosslyn Chapel. Only this is really a more final resting place. A church is a place of ritual. If you were looking for the dead, this is where you’d come. If he wants to pass over, this is where the veil is thinnest between this world and whatever afterlife you believe exists.’

‘All right, we’ll take a look. But we’re going to keep low, stay quiet and at a distance. If he’s here – and I don’t see any sign of him yet – then I’ll need to call backup units to handle this.’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll follow orders.’

They climbed the gate and took the grassy lane between the trees that led to the cemetery. Even with the modern world just a mile down the road, it was eerily still save for the din of precipitation. Their conversation ceased. Passing traffic noise did not penetrate the treeline. Connie wished she could have visited there on another day, with less rain and without the potential for a murderer to be at the end of the lane. Not that there was any indication of human life. The torrential rain had removed any sign that the grass had been recently driven on.