A fist on the near-side window woke him. It was growing light outside and he turned his head to see Kenny Magrath’s face inches from him. Magrath was opening the door of the Saab.
‘What the hell do you think you’re up to?’ the man snarled.
‘Stopping you moving anything.’
‘Moving what?’
‘Evidence.’
‘You’re off your damned head.’
‘Seven in the morning — what else would you be doing here?’
‘Picking up what I need,’ Magrath explained. ‘Got a forty-minute drive ahead of me.’ He stared at Rebus for a moment longer, then shook his head slowly and walked over to the padlock, digging in his pocket for the key. ‘Take a look,’ he called out. ‘I won’t even ask for a search warrant, with you not being a cop and all.’ The door was flung open; Magrath disappeared inside and switched on the light. Rebus got out of the car, stretching his spine while checking to left and right. Nobody else about. Not a single living soul. He walked to the doorway and stopped there. One wall consisted of home-made shelves filled with plastic tubs containing electrical parts: sockets, switches, fuses, junction boxes. A workbench stretched the length of the wall opposite, the one with the window above it. Either side of this window, tools hung from nails and hooks. There were broken appliances spread out on the bench, their components neatly arranged in what Rebus guessed was the order of dismantling. Magrath was stuffing packets of screws, washers and rawl plugs into his jacket.
‘Getting a good butcher’s?’ he asked. ‘Open the drawers if you like. And there are cardboard boxes and biscuit tins under the bench — you won’t want to miss those.’
‘Look at me,’ Rebus said quietly. Magrath turned his head towards him. ‘Have you heard the story of Dennis Nilsen?’
‘Should I have?’
‘They found human remains in the drains on his street. Moment he answered his door to CID, the detective knew.’ Rebus paused. ‘That was in London, but when I saw you yesterday, the same thing happened. I know, Kenny. I saw it in your eyes. Bear that in mind.’ He paused again. ‘So if you’re going to use that screwdriver, this might be your only chance. .’
Magrath looked down at his hand, and the tool clenched in it. He placed it back on the surface of the bench, taking his time.
‘I can see you’re methodical,’ Rebus went on, eyes sweeping the garage. ‘You’re neat and you’re careful. Explains why you’ve stayed off the radar all these years — that and having a brother who’s tried his damnedest to keep an eye on you. But you’re on the radar now, Kenny. Dead centre and with nothing else near you on the screen.’
‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘You’re thinking about them right now — especially Annette McKie. She’s freshest in your mind. You’re feeling your fingers around her throat.’
‘You’re mad.’ Magrath looked around him, as if wondering if he’d forgotten anything. He pressed a hand to each of his bulging pockets, then moved towards Rebus. Rebus stepped back, so that Magrath could switch the light off and lock the door again.
‘Did you tell Gregor, or did he somehow work it out? Maybe back when you were kids he saw the warning signs.’
‘What signs?’
‘Pulling the legs off frogs maybe; tying fireworks to the tails of cats and dogs. .’
Magrath shook his head. ‘That’s not me — go ask him.’
‘Maybe I will. It’s about time he got this off his conscience. Same with your wife.’
‘You leave Maggie out of this!’
‘Bit late for that.’
‘So help me I’ll. .’ Magrath was just about keeping his rage in check. When he took a deep breath and exhaled, it sounded like a growl. Rebus stood his ground, awaiting the man’s next move. Magrath seemed to consider his options, and ended up turning away, striding towards his parked van.
‘Where are you going, Kenny?’
No answer.
‘You were in Pitlochry, weren’t you?’
Magrath was getting into the van, avoiding eye contact. Rebus walked towards him slowly. The key was turned in the ignition; Magrath commenced a three-point turn. A minibus coming around the corner from the direction of Cromarty had to brake hard to avoid crashing into him. There were a handful of schoolkids in the back. The driver sounded his horn, but Magrath ignored him, the van roaring off in the direction of Fortrose. Rebus lit a breakfast cigarette and decided he’d done what he could. Two minutes later he was parking outside Gregor Magrath’s cottage. The wind had dropped and there were the usual dog-walkers on the beach. Rebus caught a glimpse of something out to sea that could have been a dolphin or a seal. He thumped on Magrath’s door and waited. Magrath came out to the porch and studied Rebus through the window.
‘We need to talk about your brother,’ Rebus called out to him.
The man shook his head slowly.
‘Did you move here to stop him? If so, you did a piss-poor job.’
‘Go away,’ Magrath said.
‘It was all right for the first year or so, but after that. .’
‘Go away!’ Magrath was shouting now.
‘It’s all ending, Gregor,’ Rebus persisted. ‘Surely you can see that. Time to call a halt and save what’s left of your reputation.’
‘I’m not listening!’
‘You’ve got to convince him — easier for all concerned if he turns himself in. Tell him he should think of Maggie, if nobody else. .’
Gregor Magrath’s look was full of loathing, but Rebus saw a trace of resignation too. The man turned away and went back indoors. Rebus bided his time and Magrath reappeared in the porch, this time brandishing the wooden truncheon.
‘That won’t do it,’ Rebus told him with a shake of the head and the faintest of smiles. ‘Not any longer. I know it’s about protecting family — and maybe protecting your own name while you’re at it. But moving up here hasn’t stopped him. Time for the next step, Gregor.’
‘Go to hell!’
Magrath disappeared inside again, and though Rebus stood there for a further few minutes, giving the door an occasional blow with his fist, he knew the man wasn’t coming back this time. He returned to the Saab and called Siobhan Clarke in Edinburgh.
‘Bit early for you,’ she complained.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘Not quite.’ He thought he could hear her sit up in bed. Her mouth seemed to be dry and she cleared her throat. ‘So where’s the fire?’
‘I’m in Rosemarkie,’ Rebus admitted.
‘Doing what exactly?’
‘It’s Magrath’s brother, Siobhan, I’d swear to it.’
‘What?’
‘Magrath moved north to try to keep a lid on it. The brother travels all over. He was in Glasgow the day Annette McKie was abducted, and he’d have driven up the A9 to get home.’ Rebus rubbed his free hand across the stubble on his cheeks and chin.
‘Wait a second.’ He listened as she walked into another room. ‘Can you prove any of this?’
‘I told Dempsey, we need forensics on Magrath’s van, plus searches of his home and garage.’
‘You told Dempsey?’
‘She’s not going to bite unless I can give her something. That’s why I thought of you.’
‘Are you off your head?’
‘Everybody seems to think so — but I know it’s him.’
‘That’s not the way it works, John.’ She paused, only now registering something he’d said a moment back. ‘What do you need me for?’
‘The phone number of that petrol station in Pitlochry. I want to take a look at their CCTV. If Annette hitched a lift in the town, Kenny Magrath must have been in the town.’
‘He pulled off the A9 to fill up?’
‘Maybe.’
She gave a lengthy sigh. He imagined her seated on the edge of her sofa, elbow on knee, hand pressed to forehead. Not quite ready to face the day yet, and already landed with this.
‘The longer he has, the more chance we’re giving him to dump anything that could be incriminating.’
‘Hang on a minute, then,’ she said, getting to her feet. She found the number and gave it to him twice while he jotted it down and checked it.
‘Thanks, Siobhan.’
‘I suppose Dempsey will have contacted James,’ she commented.
‘I dare say I’m in for yet another bollocking.’
‘Except that you’re not a cop any more.’ She paused. ‘Which means I shouldn’t even be talking to you, and you shouldn’t be doing this.’
‘Aren’t I naughty?’ Rebus said with a tired smile. Then: ‘I thought I saw a dolphin earlier.’
‘Or maybe a selkie?’
‘You implying I see things that aren’t there, DI Clarke?’
‘How many lies are you going to tell the petrol station?’
‘As few as necessary. I’ll talk to you later.’
‘Always supposing they allow you more than one phone call,’ she said.
Rebus managed another smile before punching in the number she had given him. But the petrol station’s footage for the day of Annette McKie’s disappearance was not available.
‘You’ve already got it,’ he was told.
‘It’s at Inverness?’ Rebus nodded his comprehension, ended the call and tried another number.
‘John?’ Gavin Arnold answered. ‘What can I do for you this fine, stress-free morning?’
‘Raise those stress levels, maybe,’ Rebus suggested.
‘By doing what?’
‘Bending a few rules,’ Rebus answered, going on to explain his request.