‘You John Rebus?’
‘Depends.’
‘It’s just that you look more like a tramp than an ex-cop. DS Creasey sent me to get your prints.’
‘Right.’
‘So if you’ll step into my office … ’
By which he meant the patrol car’s passenger seat. The fingerprint kit was in the back. The uniform fetched it and got to work.
‘You’re taking my daughter’s, too?’ Rebus asked.
‘It’s all in hand, sir.’ The man smiled at what he probably thought of as his little joke.
Job done, the prints sealed in a clear polythene bag tagged with Rebus’s name and date of birth, the officer dismissed him with a gesture and got busy on his official-issue radio.
‘Nice doing business with you,’ Rebus muttered, crouching to wipe his fingertips on the grass and watching as the patrol car reversed out onto the main road, heading to its next destination.
The Saab still didn’t sound too healthy, but it started and its wheels turned when Rebus asked them to. Slowly he drove to the primary school. Parents were arriving with their offspring, heads angled into the unceasing wind. Rebus got out of the car and stood by the gates. Many of the parents seemed to know who he was, gave him a wary greeting or just stared at him as they passed. Eventually he saw Carrie. She was holding hands with a girl the same age as her. He couldn’t think what to say, so said nothing. The woman with them ushered the girls through the gates, a peck on the top of the head for each, before turning to face him, folding her arms.
‘I’m Samantha’s dad,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘How’s Carrie?’
‘The girl’s not daft – she knows something’s happened.’
‘Samantha hasn’t told her?’
‘She’s tried.’ The woman watched the two girls skip across the playground, backpacks swinging. ‘And before you ask, I offered to keep Carrie off school today, but Sam wants things as normal as possible. She knows she’s asking the impossible, but who am I to deny her?’
‘You call her Sam?’ Rebus commented with the beginnings of a smile. ‘I’m only allowed to use “Samantha”. I was hoping to talk to her … ’
‘Police have taken her to Thurso. They need her to identify the body, though you wouldn’t have thought that was necessary. I said if she waited I’d go with her, but she was adamant.’
‘How long ago was this?’ The fingerprint cop had almost certainly known, but hadn’t said anything. Samantha would have her prints taken either before or after the identification. Christ …
‘They were at the door first thing.’ The woman paused. ‘I can see from your face you think you should be there. Trust me, I told her the same.’
‘She was adamant?’ Rebus guessed.
The woman held out her hand. ‘I’m Julie Harris, by the way.’ Rebus gripped it. ‘Jenny’s mum.’ Her accent sounded local.
‘Thanks for all the help you’re giving Sam and Carrie. And if you could keep putting a word in on my behalf … ’
‘She’s got a lot to process, you need to understand that. Right now, you’re collateral damage.’ Harris saw the look he was giving her. ‘I’m a nurse. Used to work in A&E before Jenny came along and I decided to be a full-time mother instead.’ She paused again. ‘You’re going to go haring off to Thurso now, aren’t you, try and get her to let you help?’
‘I’m that transparent?’
‘No, you’re just a lot like your daughter, Mr Rebus. It’s worth bearing that in mind.’
Leaving Naver, heading east, the road widened to two lanes. Rebus caught glimpses of distant inland wind farms and, to his left, occasional apparently inaccessible bays and beaches, hemmed by steep cliffs. Eventually he spotted the bulbous form of Dounreay’s reactor, the same reactor Keith had been busy helping decommission. The large car park was filling with workers’ vehicles. He realised he didn’t know what specific role Keith had played. He wasn’t management, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled. Quite the opposite, in Rebus’s experience.
He had the compilation CD playing softly; recognised The Clash and Jethro Tull but not the three songs that followed. As he hit the outskirts of Thurso, he saw land beyond the water to the north. Orkney, he guessed. The signpost to the ferry at Scrabster hadn’t been too far back along the road. Samantha and Keith had taken Carrie there a few times, Samantha rhapsodising about the place in phone calls afterwards.
‘You didn’t even let her know you were moving,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Your own bloody daughter … ’
There was a road sign pointing in the direction of the hospital, which was where he assumed the mortuary would be. He’d considered calling Deborah Quant to see if she could pass word on to whichever pathologist was going to be in attendance, make sure Rebus was allowed past the door. But that would have entailed a bit of explaining – and probably a warning about not overtaxing himself. So instead he planned to wing it. Why break the habit of a lifetime?
Having stopped behind a line of kerbside cars to allow traffic past in the opposite direction, he decided to wind down the window and get some air. That was when he noticed that one of the parade of vehicles was a patrol car. A patrol car with Samantha in the back, looking pale and shaken. He called out, but to no effect. Cursing, he waited until the traffic had cleared, an eager local motorist so close behind that his front grille was almost kissing the Saab’s boot. Having passed the stationary vehicles, Rebus signalled and pulled over, waiting for the road to clear so he could do a three-point turn. Nothing for it but to follow Samantha back to Naver.
But then he remembered passing the village of Strathy, probably halfway between Naver and Thurso. He dug his phone out of his pocket and looked up Lord Strathy,
