Rebus took note of that —
‘Are you in Pitlochry?’ she was now asking Lightheart.
‘Yes, but I need to head back to Perth — eleven o’clock meeting I can’t be late for.’
‘You do that then. We’ll talk again after.’
She ended the call and signalled to overtake the lorry in front.
‘Want the CD back on?’ Rebus eventually asked.
Clarke shook her head. A little later, she decided to put a question to him.
‘You don’t think it’s him, do you?’
‘No.’
‘Because he’s got a short fuse and that’s not the sort of person who goes years between victims?’
‘Right,’ Rebus agreed.
She nodded slowly. ‘So why did he run?’
‘It’s what people like him do — act on instinct; no forethought.’ Rebus decided it might be okay to throw in a question of his own. ‘Did the search turn up anything?’
‘They want to know if it’s worth putting a couple of frogmen in Loch Tummel.’
‘And is it?’
‘James’s call.’
‘What about Robertson’s stuff?’
‘Pretty much as you said. Half an ounce of cannabis, a few knock-off DVDs.’
‘Porn?’
‘Some.’
‘Hard core?’
‘No S and M, if that’s what you mean.’ She looked at him again. ‘This from the man who doesn’t rate profilers.’
‘Common sense comes cheaper.’
She managed a smile. The ice between them was melting. ‘That book in your flat — did Nina Hazlitt give it to you?’
‘How did you know?’
‘It’s on her Facebook bio that she edits books, including myths and legends.’
‘Did you know that “Ring-a-Roses” is about the plague?’
‘I thought everybody knew that.’
Rebus decided to try again: ‘Sawney Bean?’
Clarke thought for a moment. ‘Cannibal?’
‘Except he probably never existed. It was anti-Jacobite propaganda, according to one theory. Doesn’t take much to get a rumour started.’
‘Is the Burry Man in your book?’ Clarke asked.
‘He is — you ever seen him in the flesh?’
‘Last August. Took the car to Queensferry and watched him marching around, taking a drink from anyone that offered. Covered top to toe in burrs: no idea how he managed to pee. .’ She paused. ‘Could Nina Hazlitt be putting together a new bogeyman?’
‘I as good as asked her the same thing.’
‘And?’
‘She wasn’t happy about it.’
‘She’s an editor by trade.’
‘So?’
‘She creates order, John. If there’s one person responsible for all these disappearances, that gives some sense to what’s otherwise senseless.’
‘And we’re back to psychology again.’
‘Not got much else, have we?’
‘We’ve got a lot of people who don’t seem to be around any more.’
‘There is that.’
When she asked him if he wanted to choose a CD, he knew he’d been forgiven his latest transgressions.
25
The Tummel Arms wouldn’t open for business for another hour, but its door was unlocked. It was a bright, bustling morning on Pitlochry’s Atholl Road. Neighbours stood on the pavements, grocery bags or dog leads in hand, and shared the local gossip. They were used to visitors, and hadn’t paid Clarke and Rebus a moment’s notice.
‘Hello?’ Clarke called out, pushing open the pub door. The place smelled of bleach. Stools and chairs had been placed on tables so the floor could be sluiced. A woman appeared from the direction of the ladies’ loo, toting a mop.
‘We’re looking for Gina Andrews,’ Clarke explained.
The woman pushed a stray hair behind one ear. ‘She’s at the baker’s. Won’t be long, though.’
‘We’ll wait, if that’s okay?’
The cleaner shrugged, then disappeared again.
‘Trusting souls up here,’ Rebus remarked, eyeing the unguarded row of optics on the gantry.
‘Not really,’ Clarke replied, nodding towards the CCTV camera above the door. The door itself swung open and another woman negotiated her way inside, carrying a large plastic tray piled high with individually bagged rolls and sandwiches. She heaved it on to the bar and exhaled noisily.
‘Police?’ she said, turning towards her visitors.
‘That’s right,’ Clarke said.
‘About Tommy?’
‘Thomas Robertson, yes.’
‘His car’s still parked out the back.’
‘How long has it been there?’
‘Only since last night.’
‘He was in here, then?’
Gina Andrews shook her head. She was in her thirties. Short and stocky, with shoulder-length blonde hair. She had that attitude necessary to good bar staff the world over: fair, but firm when the need arose; someone it wouldn’t be wise to get on the wrong side of.
‘He must have driven here, but he didn’t come in. One of the regulars told me his car was there, so I sent him a text.’
‘Nothing back?’
She shook her head again and started transferring the rolls to a metal salver. There was a printed label on each packet, identifying the filling.
‘How much do you know about him, Ms Andrews?’
‘He’s all right. Likes a drink and a laugh.’
‘Is he your. .?’
Andrews looked up from her work. ‘My bidie-in? Nothing that serious.’
‘Just a friend, then?’
‘Most nights.’
‘Would you say he had a temper on him?’
‘If the wind’s blowing in the right direction.’
‘Do you know where he was yesterday morning?’
‘No.’
‘He was answering some questions at a police station in Perth.’
‘About the girl who went missing?’
