Dorothy was playing with a bracelet on her wrist, three colourful strands intertwined and held together by a small button with an eye on it. Hannah made it for her years ago, and Jenny couldn’t believe Dorothy still had it. She tried to think if she had anything Hannah made at school, the necklaces and keychains, paintings, random collections of stones and sticks, painted and stuck together in the name of art.

Two police officers in bulky stab-proof vests came in through the revolving door carrying coffees and went through to the back. The woman at the front desk smiled at them.

Jenny spoke to Dorothy. ‘Remind me how you met Thomas?’

Dorothy smiled. ‘Same way we meet anyone, we did his wife’s funeral.’

‘But you knew him from yoga before that.’

‘He comes to class on a Tuesday.’

‘A cop doing yoga?’77

‘What of it?’

‘Did Dad know you were friends?’

Dorothy paused at that. ‘What are you implying?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘Nothing, I just wondered.’

‘What century is this?’ Dorothy said. ‘A woman can be friends with a man.’

‘Sure.’

Dorothy shook her head. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, your dad knew I was friends with Thomas. He didn’t have a problem with it.’

The door from the back office opened and a tall black man in a fitted suit appeared.

‘Dorothy, good to see you,’ he said, his accent a mishmash of Scottish and Nordic. ‘Come on through.’

‘This is my daughter, Jenny.’ She turned to Jenny. ‘And this is Thomas.’

Jenny shook his hand, he had a firm grip but soft skin.

‘Dorothy has told me a lot about you,’ Thomas said.

‘I wish I could say the same,’ Jenny said.

The meeting room on the first floor had great views of Salisbury Crags and Arthur’s Seat. The summits of both were peppered with tourists and walkers, little dots on the skyline.

Thomas had a brown folder open in front of him. Jenny studied him as he flicked through some papers. Mid-fifties, fit, smartly presented, widowed. He was a catch.

He shook his head. ‘There’s not much here, to be honest.’

He flicked a page over, some handwritten notes, an official-looking form.

‘Simple missing-person case, never resolved. He was reported missing by his wife, but we did nothing at first. Then she called 78again two days later, still no sign, so an officer was assigned the case. They checked his bank and phone, no activity. Nothing on his email, and this was before social media.’

‘How did I not know about this if he was working for us?’ Dorothy said.

Thomas ran a finger along a page. ‘Officer Daniels spoke to Jim and Archie, they said they didn’t know anything, there was nothing suspicious.’

‘The police interviewed Archie?’

‘Not an interview, just a chat.’

Dorothy turned to Jenny. ‘I asked Archie, he never mentioned it.’

‘Maybe he forgot.’