of Rebus. Rebus had some sympathy: his eyes were probably bloodshot, he had failed to locate a clean shirt, and his razor definitely needed a new blade. He had shown her his ID and waited to be buzzed through the locked door leading to the stairs.
‘Who’s your appointment with?’
‘I’m on secondment to CID.’
‘That’s not what your card says.’
Rebus leaned forward until his face was almost touching the Plexiglas partition. ‘Are we going to have this every morning?’
‘He’s with me, Juliet,’ Siobhan Clarke said, coming in from outside. ‘Might as well get used to his ugly mug.’
‘He needs to sign as a visitor. Then I can give him a badge.’
Clarke stared at the woman. ‘Really? I mean,
‘Then I should have been told.’
‘So someone cocked up — there had to be a first time, eh?’
‘I’m right here, by the way,’ Rebus interrupted, feeling left out.
The officer’s face broke into an eventual smile — aimed at Clarke rather than Rebus. ‘Some proper identification by the end of the day. .’
‘Girl Guide’s honour.’
‘I thought you said you’d never been a Girl Guide.’ The smile was broadening as she pressed the button to let them through.
Clarke led Rebus into the heart of the building. ‘You’ll require a passport photo,’ she told him. ‘Got one handy?’
‘Never felt the need.’
She looked at him. ‘No passport?’
‘Didn’t bother renewing it. I’m perfectly happy where I am.’
She looked at him again. ‘When was the last time you actually left the city — for pleasure, I mean?’
He gave a casual shrug as she continued to study him, this time taking in his clothes.
‘James likes the officers under him to be presentable.’
‘You might be under him from time to time — but not me.’
‘Is this what I have to look forward to?’ She gave him a stern look and asked where the files were.
‘At home.’ He saw that she was ready to remonstrate, so held up a hand. ‘I’m not being obstructive. It’s just that I was awake till three going through them again. Slept late and didn’t have time to pack them away.’
‘Making you the resident expert until someone else gets a look-in?’
‘You might almost call me indispensable.’
‘Not even close, John.’ They were outside the CID suite. The door, as usual, was wide open, a couple of detectives already seated at their desks. Walking in, Rebus caught the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The pot rested on top of a filing cabinet. Clarke poured for both of them.
‘Anybody get milk?’ she asked. There were shakes of the head.
‘That must make me the cavalry,’ James Page said, striding into the office. He carried a litre carton in one hand, brown leather satchel in the other.
‘Hello again,’ he said to Rebus.
‘Morning, sir.’
‘First names around here, John.’ Page handed the milk to Clarke but kept his eyes on Rebus. ‘Any news from those files of yours?’
‘Only that they’re far from complete. Zoe Beddows had been seeing a married man — that’s who she sent
‘And the photo itself?’
‘He didn’t keep it. From the description: hills, sky and a track.’
‘Similar enough to the one Annette McKie sent,’ Clarke commented.
Rebus felt compelled to qualify the statement. ‘
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ Page countered. ‘What about Aviemore and Strathpeffer?’
‘I did a bit of digging on the internet,’ Clarke said. ‘You couldn’t readily send a picture from one phone to another until 2005 or 2006.’
‘Really?’ Page’s brow furrowed. ‘As recently as that?’
‘Might be worth showing the photo we
‘Yes?’ Page prompted.
‘We also need to get the new photo circulated. It has to ring bells with somebody.’
‘There’s a press conference at twelve,’ Page said, studying his watch.
‘There is?’ Clarke sounded annoyed at just finding out.
‘The mother’s putting up a reward. Ten thousand pounds, I think.’
‘A fair bit of cash,’ Rebus stated. ‘For someone who lives in Lochend.’
‘Do you want me at the press conference, James?’ Clarke was asking.
‘We’ll all be there — need to let people know we’re motivated.’ Page broke off, noticing Rebus’s shirt and stubble. ‘Maybe not quite all of us, eh, John?’
‘If you say so, James.’
‘Public perception and suchlike. .’ Page gave a thin smile and turned away, heading for his own inner office. He had to put his coffee down and take a key from his pocket to unlock the door.
‘I’m sure that was a cupboard when I used to work here,’ Rebus said to Clarke, keeping his voice down.
‘It was,’ she confirmed. ‘But James seems to like it.’
The door closed again, with Page behind it. The room had to be near airless, and with no natural light that Rebus could recall. Yet James Page appeared to flourish there.
‘Did I pass inspection?’ he asked Clarke.
‘Just about.’
‘It’s only day one, remember — plenty of time for me to start letting the side down.’
‘How about not doing that, eh? Just for once in your life.’
8
The school’s rector had offered them his office, but Clarke had declined. As she waited with Rebus in the corridor outside, she explained her reasoning.
‘Too intimidating. When you’re in that room, it’s because you’re in trouble. We want him a bit more relaxed and talkative.’
Rebus nodded his agreement. He was looking out of a window towards the playground. The window was double-glazed, but condensation had found its way between the panes. The wooden frame was spongy.
‘Could do with a bit of TLC,’ Clarke commented.
‘Either that or knocking down.’
‘New schools for all, once we get independence.’
Rebus looked at her. ‘What’s with the “we”? Are you forgetting that’s an English accent you’ve got?’
‘Reckon I’m for deportation?’
‘We might just keep you at a pinch.’ Rebus pulled back his shoulders as a teenager in school uniform entered the corridor, hesitated, then walked towards them. His hair flopped into his eyes, and he wore his striped tie with an oversized knot.
‘Are you Thomas?’ Rebus asked.
