'Just wondered if your husband had returned from his business trip.'

Her face relaxed a little and she pretended to be interested in the top sheet of paper.

'Not yet,' she said.

'No phone calls? No contact of any kind? Surely you must have an inkling of his movements?'

'What is it you want?' She peered at him above her horn-rimmed glasses.

'You look as though you're struggling,' Rebus commented.

'What business is that of yours?'

Rebus offered a shrug. 'Have you tried asking your nephew? Maybe he has some ideas.'

'Nephew?'

'In Edinburgh.' He'd been hoping for a reaction, but he was disappointed. She waved a finger to interrupt him as she took a phone call.

'Just left the yard,' she informed the caller, checking the clock on the wall. 'By seven tomorrow, yes.' She saw that Rebus wasn't about to make a move. 'Hang on a sec, will you?' she told the caller. Then, to Rebus: 'Was there anything else?'

Rebus gave another shrug. 'Nothing illegal in the lorries tonight, I hope. Not that I suppose you'll be doing much business with Joe Stark after the stunt your husband pulled...'

She gave him a look that would have felled lesser mortals, and turned her back on him as she picked up where she'd left off with the caller.

'Sorry, Timothy,' she cooed. 'Thought all the arseholes had clocked off for the night, but there's always one more...'

Rebus took in the interiordesk, filing cabinets, wall planners. Having gleaned precisely nothing, he made his exit, leaving the door nicely ajar so the night air and diesel could waft in. The HGV driver was giving his vehicle a final check. Rebus crossed the tarmac towards him.

'Long trip?' he asked.

'Aberdeen, Dundee, Newcastle.'

'Could be worse, eh?'

'I suppose.'

Rebus gestured towards the office. 'How's she really coping with Hamish gone? I mean, I know she puts on a brave face...'

The driver puffed out his cheeks. 'She's pedalling pretty hard.'

'You think she's up to it?'

'Time will tell.'

'And Hamish? Reckon we'll see him again?'

'Are you kidding me?' He straightened up, facing Rebus. Then he drew a finger across his throat.

'Really?' Rebus's eyes widened in what he hoped looked like astonishment. 'The Starks did him in?'

'I heard he was driven away from here in a car. Two of them in the front, Hamish and another in the back. Last anyone saw of the poor sod.'

'Does she know?' Rebus was gesturing towards the Portakabin again.

'Everybody knows,' the driver stated. 'But nobody's saying.'

'You heard what happened to Dennis Stark?'

'Universe has a way of balancing things out.' The driver was hauling himself up into his cab. 'Don't suppose you need a lift to Aberdeen?'

'Not right now.'

'Pitya bit of company passes the time.'

The man closed the door, revving the engine and making a few more checks. As the lorry began trundling out of the yard, Rebus headed for his car. Wright's wife was watching from the open doorway. He stopped and began walking in her direction, but she disappeared inside, slamming the door shut.

Chick Carpenter's home was a modern two-storey detached near the zoo. Other times Darryl Christie had visited, he'd been able to hear and even smell the placescreeches and howls and dung. He remembered being taken on childhood trips, trekking up the steep slope and then back down again, or staring at glass tanks in the reptile house, or waiting with an ice-cream cone for the penguin parade to start. They had a pair of pandas these days, though he hadn't been to see them. More pandas than Tory MPs, that was the joke made in many a pub. Carpenter and his wife had turned up as pandas at the Halloween party Christie had thrown at the hotel.

Chrissie was waiting behind the door, opening it as soon as he pressed the bell. She wrapped him in an embrace, pecking both cheeks.

'You'll catch your death,' she scolded him, eyeing the black V-neck T-shirt beneath his suit. 'In you come, quick. Chick's in the den.'

'When are you going to cut your losses and run away with me?' he teased her.

'I'm old enough to be your mum.'

'You're in your prime, Chrissieeven when dressed as a panda.'

She slapped his shoulder playfully and led him to the den. It was off the huge living room, a snug space with dark red walls and oak flooring. Chick Carpenter was stretched out on the sofa, reading a golf magazine.

'Come in, Darryl, come in,' he said. 'Get the man a drink, Chrissie.'

'Just water, thanks.'

'You sure?'

'I'm driving.'

'Not quite yet above the law, eh?' Carpenter's smile became a wince as he swivelled into a seated position. The black eyes were still swollen.

'Hear you ended up with a cracked rib.'

'I'm basically wearing a corset under this shirt. Nearly had my nose broken too.'

'Sorry I've not visited sooner...'

Carpenter waved the apology aside. 'You've got a business to run.'

'All the same.' Darryl accepted the glass of water Chrissie was holding out to him. When she left, she slid shut the doors. 'Did they target you to get at me, do you think?'

'As a message, you mean?' Carpenter shook his head. 'They're looking for stuff Hamish Wright took from them. They'd been to another two storage places in the city. I'd had fair warning they might be paying a visit.'

'Nobody else ended up in A and E, though.'

'My own fault for getting mouthy. You know what I'm like. We'd had a day of problems with our computers and I was up for a shouting match.'

'Dennis didn't mention me at all?'

Carpenter shook his head. 'Hamish Wright is all they were interested in.' He broke off, smiling to himself.

'What's the joke?'

'Not a joke, really. It's just that Wright's nephew works for me.'

'Is that so?'

'Name's Anthony Wrighthe doesn't know I know.'

'How do you know?'

'Wright's haulage firm is based in Inverness. Anthony's often mentioned biking there of a weekendsaid he had family up that way.'

'You put two and two together?' Christie nodded thoughtfully. 'The Starks don't know this, though?'

'No.' With effort, Carpenter lifted a glass from the floor. Gin and tonic by the look of it. He sipped, his eyes on his visitor.

'I'm guessing,' Christie eventually said, 'that you'd wonder if Anthony's uncle had recently rented one of your units.'

'You'd be right. But his name's not in the records.'

'Clever money would be on an alias.'

'Which is why I made sure I was thorough. Every unit is kosherfor once.'

'Do you think Anthony might know his uncle's whereabouts?'

'He's a good lad,' Carpenter cautioned. 'I wouldn't like to see him hurt.'

'Perish the thought.' Christie drained the glass of tap water and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, his eyes fixed on Carpenter throughout. 'Here's what you're going to do for me, Chick. You're going to keep a close watch on Anthony. He drops any hintsyou let me know. He suddenly needs to go off somewhereyou let me know. Is that understood?'

'Loud and clear, Darryl.' Though he had only recently put his own glass down, Carpenter's mouth sounded parched.

Christie nodded his satisfaction and rose to his feet.

'Can I just ask one thing?' Carpenter said, getting up with some effort. 'Who did kill Dennis Stark? Do you know?'

Christie handed the man his empty glass. 'Anyone touches me or my friends, there's a price to be paid,' he said.

As he pulled the sliding doors open and walked back through the living room, where Chrissie sat watching TV with the sound kept low, Christie knew he was taking a gamble. His parting shot would play well with Carpenter and others like him, but on the other hand, if his words got back to Joe Stark...

'Night, Chrissie,' he called.

'Look after yourself, pet.'

'I always do.'

35.

Siobhan Clarke checked her watch again: almost half past ten.

'He's not coming,' Fox told her.

'I know.' She tore off a shred of leftover naan and began chewing it. She and Fox were the last customers left in Newington Spice. 'You heading back to the hospital?'

'I might.'

'Want some company?'

'You should really get some sleep.'

'Said the pot to the kettle.'

'Another tough day?'

'Page is getting flak for the inquiry stalling. He's been growing grumpier by the hour. I had to tell him, it's been over a week now and none of us has managed a day off. Everybody's exhausted.' She paused. 'Plus I gave a bollocking of my own.'

'Who to?'

'Charlie Sykes.'

'For being a waste of space?'

'For maybe telling tales to Darryl Christie. Charlie wasn't best pleased.'

'I'll bet.'

'I threatened to take it further unless he owned up. Told him that if I did that, he could kiss his precious pension goodbye.'

'And?'