Page took a moment to digest this. ‘And Hammell?’ he asked.
‘Needs to be interviewed.’
‘He could have followed her to Pitlochry. .’
‘He could,’ Rebus admitted.
Page remained thoughtful. ‘How was the rest of your trip?’
‘Largely uneventful.’ Rebus handed over the petrol receipt. ‘Expenses,’ he explained.
Page studied it. ‘Dated today.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I thought you went yesterday?’
‘The trip took longer than expected.’
‘You were away overnight?’
‘A hotel,’ Rebus said.
‘Receipt?’ Page held out a hand, but Rebus shook his head.
‘On the house, as it were.’ He turned to go, but Page hadn’t quite finished with him.
‘Nina Hazlitt picked you out for praise.’
‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘As long as it doesn’t go to your head.’
‘Quite the opposite, James, I assure you. .’
Back in the body of the kirk, it struck Rebus once again that he had nowhere to sit, not when the team was accounted for. There was a metal-framed chair that had come from the interview room, but no desk to go with it. Rebus placed it next to Clarke and checked that the legs were not going to collapse beneath him.
‘Somewhere to put the boxes?’ he hinted, prodding one of them with his finger.
‘All in good time.’
‘Otherwise I’ve busted a gut lugging them here for nothing.’
She stared at him. ‘Poor you.’ Then, turning back to her computer: ‘How was the rest of the trip?’
‘I took a look at Durness.’
‘Thought as much. Explains why you’re only just getting back.’
‘It’s not a contender.’
On her screen, she had found a contact number for Frank Hammell. She pressed her phone to her ear and waited.
‘Mr Hammell?’ she said. ‘DI Clarke here. Do you think we could have a word at the station. .?’ She tapped the nib of her pen against a notebook next to her keyboard. ‘Today, if at all possible.’ She listened to his response, then asked when he would be back. ‘Well, if that’s the best you can do, sir. Noon tomorrow. We’ll see you then. .’
She ended the call and looked at Rebus again. ‘He says he’s in Aberdeen on business.’
Rebus pursed his lips. ‘Thomas Robertson business?’
Clarke shrugged. Rebus was studying the map on the wall. More pins had been added, new locations suggested. The biggest cluster was still around Edderton. Christine Esson was approaching. ‘Have you told him?’ she asked Clarke.
‘Told him what?’
‘The sightings.’
‘Oh.’ Clarke opened her mouth to speak, but Page called out from his doorway, gesturing for her to join him in his office. ‘You better do it,’ she said to Esson, rising from her chair and squeezing past Rebus.
‘I’m all ears,’ Rebus offered.
‘You know we put out the e-fits of the missing women?’ Esson obliged.
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve had some sightings.’
‘Okay. .’
‘And interestingly, most are of Sally Hazlitt.’
‘Why is that interesting?’
‘Because she’s been missing the longest. Means the e-fit is less likely to be accurate. Easier to age a photo a couple of years than a dozen.’
Rebus nodded his acceptance of this. ‘So where did all these sightings take place?’
She went back to her desk, returning with a pad of paper covered in her writing.
‘Brigid Young was spotted last year working in a bar in Dublin. She now has an Australian accent, by the way.’
‘Are you okay if we discount that one?’
Esson smiled. ‘I think we can scratch most of them.’
‘But not all?’
She looked at her notes again. ‘Zoe Beddows has been seen in Brighton, Bristol, Dumfries and Lerwick — all within the past three months.’
‘She gets about a bit.’
‘And as for Sally Hazlitt. .’ She did some addition, her mouth forming the numbers. ‘Eleven sightings in total, everywhere from Dover to Dundee.’
‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’
‘Two people claim to have seen her in Inverness, working in a hotel.’
‘Same hotel both times?’
Esson nodded. ‘The two callers don’t know one another, and they stayed there on different weeks. One was in September, the other October. It’s got to be coincidence, right? I mean, Inverness being on the A9. .’
‘What’s the hotel called?’
‘Whicher’s. It’s part of a chain. I don’t know much more than that.’
‘Was she a chambermaid?’
‘Receptionist.’ Esson paused. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’
Rebus nodded slowly. ‘And this is the only example where two people have come forward with the exact same information?’
‘So far, yes.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s worth checking.’
‘Not a priority, though?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think they’re long dead.’
‘And Annette McKie?’
‘There’s still a chance — albeit a slim one.’
‘Which is why the focus needs to be on her,’ Rebus said. ‘That was good work, by the way — the bus station CCTV. Shows what happens when you’re thorough.’
Her head dropped just a fraction. ‘To be honest, I feel a bit bad about it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it wasn’t picked up straight away.’ She glanced in the direction of Page’s closed door.
‘It was Siobhan who looked at the footage originally?’ Rebus guessed. Esson gave the slightest of nods. ‘You reckon she’s in there getting a spanking?’ Rebus watched as the colour rose to the young woman’s cheeks. ‘I still think you deserve a prize — what do you say to a nice big mug of hot water?’
33
The Oxford Bar was mid-evening quiet. Rebus was seated in the back room with an IPA and the
‘Have I ever been known to refuse?’
She retreated and returned a couple of minutes later with a fresh pint and a glass full of something green- tinged and fizzy.
