He had his phone out, held in front of him to film what he saw. Rebus covered his face with his hand.
‘Put that bloody thing away unless you want a night in the cells,’ he barked. ‘Then turn yourself around and bugger off the way you came.’
‘Can I quote you on that, officer?’ He was young, with fair curly hair spilling from the hood of a green Barbour jacket.
‘I mean it.’ Rebus checked and saw that the phone had been lowered.
‘Big operation,’ the reporter said, rising up on to his tiptoes to peer over Rebus’s shoulder. ‘SOCOs and everything. I’m guessing that means you’ve found something.’
‘You’ll know when everybody else does,’ Rebus growled.
‘What the hell’s going on?’
Rebus turned in the direction of the voice. DCS Dempsey was striding towards him.
‘Pond life,’ Rebus explained, but her eyes were on the young man.
‘Might have guessed you’d be first out of the traps, Raymond.’
‘Anything you’d care to share, DCS Dempsey?’ He was busy with his mobile’s touch screen, turning it from camera to tape recorder.
‘There’ll be a press conference in the morning.’
‘Too late for our early edition. Throw me a bone here, will you? The internet’s killing us.’
Dempsey gave a theatrical sigh. ‘There seem to be human remains, but we don’t know much more than that. Now off you go.’
When the reporter tried asking a further question, she shooed him away. He gave a lopsided grin. ‘See you at Mum’s on Sunday, then?’
She nodded, avoiding eye contact with Rebus. The reporter was already on the phone to his newsroom, having turned back the way he’d come.
‘Is Raymond his first name or his last?’ Rebus enquired.
‘First,’ Dempsey confided. ‘And before you say anything, he’s my nephew. Doesn’t mean he gets special treatment.’
‘I thought he just did.’ She made no response. ‘Well,’ Rebus went on, ‘I hope he’s got sharp elbows — when word gets out, there’s going to be a media scrum.’ They stood in silence for a moment. ‘How many are we up to?’ he asked eventually.
‘Five, I think. Four in an advanced state of decay.’
‘And the other?’
‘I wouldn’t bet against it being Annette McKie.’
Rebus watched as Page and Clarke emerged from the woods, Page removing his shoe protectors. Clarke was stony-faced as she checked her phone for a signal. Page looked pale and queasy. He turned away and dry-heaved, hand clamped to his mouth to muffle the sound. Rebus offered him what water was left in his bottle. Page accepted it with a nod of thanks. Clarke had got through and was talking to either Esson or Ogilvie, letting them know the game plan had just changed.
‘I need to get back to Inverness,’ Dempsey announced. ‘Gee up some pathologists and see what can be done before morning.’ She studied the three Edinburgh detectives. ‘You lot should get your heads down — big day in front of all of us. .’ She started walking towards her car, shoulders slumped. Page was offering Rebus’s water back to him.
‘It’s yours now,’ Rebus said. Clarke had ended her call.
‘Will the restaurant still be open at the hotel?’ she asked.
Rebus shook his head. ‘A sandwich in the bar if you’re lucky. Crisps on the side.’
‘Can you pair stop talking about food?’ Page requested, angling his head away from them as another wave of nausea struck.
45
Almost two a.m.
Page had retired an hour back, and Esson and Ogilvie soon after. The original plan had been for the pair of them to head to Edinburgh at day’s end, but Clarke hadn’t wanted either of them nodding off at the wheel. Neither had seemed to mind. They had interviewed the parents of the Golspie and Fort Augustus victims, gleaning not very much in the process.
‘It was weird seeing Jemima’s bedroom,’ Esson had said. ‘It really is exactly as she left it. Some people just can’t let go, can they?’
Reception had doled out little toothbrush sets for both Esson and Ogilvie, and found them a couple of rooms at ‘the last-minute rate’. Rebus guessed the place might be busier next day, depending on how many news channels decided to cover the story. He was nursing his fourth whisky of the night.
‘You thawed out yet?’ he asked Clarke.
‘Almost.’
‘I’ve half a mind to head back out there,’ Rebus told her.
‘What good would it do?’ She was staring at her phone’s screen, using the hotel wi-fi to scour the internet for mentions of Edderton.
‘None,’ Rebus admitted. ‘I’d just be in everyone’s way. On the other hand, I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep.’
‘Four’s not enough any more?’ She gestured towards his whisky glass.
‘Never has been. This is just taking the edge off.’
She picked up a shred of lettuce from the plate in front of her. The sandwiches, crisps and cherry tomatoes had been dispatched, though Rebus had abstained, with the complaint that he’d already eaten his own weight in white bread that day.
‘This is just beginning, isn’t it?’ Clarke speculated. ‘Totally different case now.’
‘Nothing’s really changed,’ Rebus countered. ‘We’ve got confirmation, that’s all.’
‘You always knew it would turn out like this?’
‘It was a possibility — we all knew that, whether we said so or not.’
‘You’ve worked more of these cases than I have: where do we go from here?’
‘Local interviews; crime-scene analysis; appeals for information. .’
‘What sort of person are we looking for?’
‘Isn’t that a question for one of your profiler chums?’
‘I don’t have any profiler chums. And it’s out of my hands anyway.’
Rebus looked at her. ‘I’m not convinced our pal Page is up to the task. You might need to be at his shoulder.’
‘James will be fine. He’s just not been to many murder scenes.’
‘He’s an office manager, Siobhan — could be CID or a company selling fitted kitchens. This needs someone a bit different.’
‘DCS Dempsey’s at the head of the table.’
‘That’s a definite bonus. But even she won’t have covered something like this before.’
‘And you have? You’re asking me to get you an invite into the boardroom?’
‘More or less.’
‘That might make it a bit crowded — unless you want
He shook his head. ‘I just need to be there.’
‘Won’t always be possible, John.’ She finished her orange juice and checked the time. ‘What’s the breakfast like?’
‘Substantial.’
‘I forgot to ask when they start serving. .’
‘Seven.’
She gave a tired smile. ‘It’s like sitting with the Michelin guide.’ Then she rose to her feet, bidding him good
