Even if they’d recently been arguing.
Why dump the car in such a conspicuous spot, though? Because the killer panicked, once the initial shock had worn off. Panicked, stopped the car and fled the scene. Nearest house to the lay-by was Samantha’s. And where was Carrie while all this was happening? Creasey and his troops would doubtless reckon her old enough to be left alone for an hour – an hour being all it would have taken, maybe even as little as forty minutes. Premeditated? That was a question they couldn’t answer as yet. What mattered to them right now was coming up with a convincing suspect and pushing that suspect into confessing. Rebus couldn’t know what the autopsy had thrown up, or what evidence might have been gleaned from the crime scene. Would they want all Samantha’s clothes and shoes for analysis? The Volvo had already been checked and he doubted they’d found anything incriminating there – if they had, Samantha would already have been charged.
Why take Keith’s laptop and notebooks? He suspected CID wouldn’t worry themselves about any of that – details to be ironed out later or brushed aside.
Once past the motorhomes, he put his foot down, only to be overtaken quarter of an hour later by a parade of motorbikes with German plates. The road was relatively benign thereafter, passing places appearing with enough regularity to mean oncoming vehicles didn’t slow him by much. At Lairg, he branched off the A836, keen to get onto the faster A9 as quickly as possible.
Traffic was sluggish as he neared Inverness, the rain pelting down now, the Saab’s wipers just coping and no more. He began to wonder if the old car would get him back to Naver in one piece. He knew where the police HQ was and reckoned they’d have taken her there. He bypassed the centre of the city, staying on the A9 until the turn-off for the main infirmary. His destination was directly opposite it, which he supposed could come in handy from time to time. He dreaded to think how many hours he’d wasted driving out to Edinburgh’s Royal Infirmary once it had relocated from the city centre to the outskirts. All to take a witness statement or try to collar an injured suspect.
Of course she’s a suspect, he thought to himself as he headed into the car park. When he turned off the ignition, the Saab’s engine coughed a complaint loud enough to be noticed by a small group of smokers congregated at one corner of the building. They seemed to be finishing their break, readying to head indoors. But one of them lingered and began walking in Rebus’s direction.
‘Didn’t think we could keep you away,’ Creasey said, staring up at the sky to gauge when the next heavy shower would arrive. ‘But you know how these things are. This has to happen.’ He gestured towards the HQ.
‘Can I see her?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Legal representation?’
‘Everything by the book, John,’ Creasey attempted to reassure him. ‘And she’s holding up okay.’
‘She has a daughter at home … ’
‘We won’t be holding her – or charging her at this point.’
‘Good, because you’d look a right twat when the real killer pops up.’
The sigh Creasey gave was theatrical. Rebus decided on a change of tack.
‘Didn’t have you pegged for a smoker.’
‘I’m not, but some on the team are, and I don’t like to be left out. Some of the best ideas come when people allow themselves to switch off for a few minutes.’
Rebus nodded his agreement. He reached into his pocket and handed over the anonymous note. ‘Shoved through her door sometime yesterday. Not everyone’s on her side.’ He paused. ‘Might even be more ominous than that.’
‘How do you reckon?’
‘Someone might want her running, giving you more reason to put her at the top of your list.’
‘The killer?’ Creasey studied the note again. He held it up to what light there was.
‘Doubt you’ll get prints, but you could try.’
‘I’ll hang onto it then.’
‘Remember,’ Rebus said, ‘it was a note like this that told Keith about Samantha and Hawkins.’
‘Same person?’
He gave a shrug. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve done anything about Colin Belkin yet?’
‘Not yet, no.’ Creasey was looking in the direction of the Saab. ‘Halfway point to home, I’d guess.’
Rebus shook his head. ‘Edinburgh can wait. I’m staying here until my daughter no longer needs me.’
‘I thought she made that decision when she kicked you out of her house.’ Creasey’s eyes had hardened.
Rebus gave as good as he got, his voice deepening. ‘You got nothing useful from the autopsy; there’s no sign of a weapon or the items taken from Keith’s satchel – no prints on the satchel either, I’m guessing. Don’t let the brick wall you’re slamming your head against cause you to do something rash.’
‘Like charging your daughter? Your daughter Samantha with her prints on the car and the satchel?’
‘She didn’t do it!’ Rebus snapped through half-gritted teeth.
‘Then there’s nothing to worry about,’ Creasey said with a thin smile, turning away and heading back to work.
Rebus considered walking up to the front desk and causing a fuss, but he knew it would be futile. He heard a car door open and saw a figure he recognised emerge. It was one of the journalists who’d been hanging out at The Glen.
‘Catch any of that?’ he said as the journalist started to approach.
‘Bits and pieces.’
‘Do I know your name?’
‘Lawrie Blake. Remember, I told you I’m friends with Laura Smith at the Scotsman? Which means I know a fair bit about you, Mr Rebus.’
‘I couldn’t be more thrilled about that, Lawrie.’
The young man nodded towards the Saab. ‘I recall
