‘I don’t know if that’s really necessary,’ Samantha said coldly.
‘I’d like to, though.’ Rebus’s eyes were on his granddaughter. ‘Would that be all right with you?’ he asked. Eventually Carrie nodded.
‘Thank you,’ Rebus said.
They walked in silence for a minute or two, Carrie casting glances back over her shoulder towards the house, Samantha with her phone held in her free hand like a talisman. Naver, despite its size, boasted both a primary and a high school, both with rolls in the tens rather than hundreds. Samantha had always been enthusiastic about the quality of teaching, and when asked, Carrie reeled off her current teacher’s good points.
‘It’s keeping the teachers that’s the problem,’ Samantha added.
Entering the village proper, Rebus saw that the bonnet of his Saab was open, a man in blue overalls and a padded cotton jacket leaning down into the engine.
‘I’ll leave you here,’ Rebus said to his daughter and granddaughter. ‘Have a good day at school, Carrie.’
She managed a non-committal sound and skipped away ahead of her mother. Rebus watched them leave, hoping Samantha might turn towards him so he could wave. But she didn’t. May Collins was emerging from The Glen with a mug of tea. The mechanic paused in his work to take it from her. She gave Rebus a welcoming smile.
‘This is John,’ she informed the mechanic. ‘He’s Samantha’s father.’
‘Mick Sanderson,’ the man said, waving oily fingers to excuse the lack of a handshake. He was in his mid twenties, with curly red hair and a heavily freckled face.
‘Thanks for doing this,’ Rebus said. ‘Any joy?’
‘Just getting started,’ Sanderson explained. ‘Might be something or nothing. Older a car gets, the more TLC it needs.’
‘I might have been lax in that regard.’
‘Believe me, I can tell.’
‘If it’s fixable,’ May Collins broke in, ‘Mick’s your man. There’s a tractor on the commune that should be in a museum by rights–Mick seems to get it going year after year.’
‘Is that what it is, Mick?’ Rebus asked. ‘A commune?’
The mechanic shrugged. ‘Good a term as any. We live communally, share the workload–you’re welcome to visit.’
‘I might do that.’ Rebus paused. ‘It won’t be news to you why I’m here?’
‘Heard about Keith, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘You know him, then?’
‘He visited one time with Samantha.’
‘He didn’t take to the place the way Samantha did?’ Rebus watched Sanderson shrug. ‘Or maybe it was the people he didn’t take to?’
‘People and place are much the same thing in my experience.’
‘He works at a nuclear power station–not much of a New Age angle there.’
‘He’s dismantling it, though, isn’t he? Making it safe. No quarrel with that. Whereas this gas-guzzler…’ Sanderson rapped his knuckles against the Saab.
‘In my defence, I bought it in the days before global warming.’
May Collins laughed and even Sanderson managed the beginnings of a smile.
‘I’m forgetting my manners,’ May said. ‘Can I make you a tea, John?’
‘I’m okay, thanks.’ Then, to Sanderson: ‘Has May given you my number?’
‘When there’s news, I’ll let you know. I’m assuming you’d be happy if it’ll drive as far as a garage?’
‘If that’s what’s on offer.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Rebus nodded. ‘Thanks again. By the way, does your commune have a name?’
‘Not really.’
‘And opening hours for visitors?’
‘Day and night, you’ll find someone there.’ Sanderson had placed his mug on the tarmac and was leaning down into the engine again.
‘The day Keith disappeared, Samantha and Carrie had been to visit.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘To see the chickens.’
‘I might’ve been busy elsewhere.’
Rebus watched the man work for a few more seconds. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’
May Collins squeezed his arm. ‘We open at noon,’ she said. ‘Bring Samantha in for lunch. It’s only soup and sandwiches, but it might be good for her.’
‘I’ll ask,’ Rebus said.
Her grip on his forearm tightened. ‘See that you do.’
Rebus walked back to the bungalow with hands in pockets, jacket buttoned to the neck. It was probably only three or four degrees colder than Edinburgh, but the wind was from the north and not about to be tamed, it seemed, even in summer. The door to the house had been left unlocked. He went inside but felt restless. He found the keys to the Volvo. It had been brought back from the lay-by and stood outside. He scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen table–didn’t want Samantha thinking Keith had returned and taken the car. But she was approaching the house as he made his exit.
‘Just going for a drive,’ he said.
‘My company’s not good enough for you?’
‘It’s not that. But I work best when left to my own devices.’
‘So you’re not just going for a drive?’
‘I probably am, though. And while I’m doing that, you can be phoning Keith’s workmates and pals–see if there’s any news; maybe there’s someone you missed when you rang round before.’
She studied the phone in her hand. ‘That detective called.’
‘Creasey?’
‘After I’d dropped Carrie off. More questions about me and Jess.’ She gave Rebus an accusing look.
‘I’ve not said a word. Did you mention the argument?’
‘It wasn’t an argument.’
‘Even so.’ Rebus paused. ‘I’ll be back for lunch–May Collins said we should go eat at the pub.’
‘Maybe,’ Samantha eventually conceded.
Rebus leaned forward to peck her on the cheek, but she drew away. Nothing for it but to head to the car.
He drove away from the village, west on the A836. He had the coastline–albeit largely hidden from view–to one side of him, and hillside with the occasional grazing sheep to the other. Eventually he noticed a makeshift sign alerting him to a backpacker hostel and café. This comprised a fair-sized solid-looking house with a modern single-storey extension. He pulled in to the unpaved car park and walked towards a wooden door that boasted another handwritten sign proclaiming ‘Yes, we really are open–try the handle!’ He did, and entered a room big enough for four tables and a serving counter. A man around his own age stood behind the counter and greeted him with a wave.
‘How can I help?’
‘Just a coffee,’ Rebus said,
