‘That word being …?’

Dickinson’s eyes met Clarke’s again, as full of warmth as one of Deborah Quant’s fridges. ‘Mackenzie,’ he stated.

‘As in QC Lettings?’

‘It transpires,’ Trask said, folding her arms, ‘that Fraser Mackenzie might do more than simply rent out some flats.’

‘He’s a drug dealer,’ Fox added, loath to be left out of the conversation.

Dickinson cocked his head to one side. ‘No hard evidence as yet, but we’re getting there.’

Clarke tapped her chin with the knuckle of her thumb. ‘I suppose Cafferty’s health issues left a vacuum that needed filling. I spoke with him yesterday and he didn’t sound like a fan of QC.’

‘Spoke with him about what?’ Fox asked, shifting in his chair.

‘We had a tip-off,’ Clarke improvised. ‘A photo of Francis Haggard sent to Cafferty.’

‘Sent why?’

Clarke shrugged. ‘It showed Haggard at the murder scene some time before he died.’ She paused. ‘However, Cafferty denied receiving it.’

‘You saw it, though?’ Dickinson asked.

‘No,’ Clarke admitted.

Fox’s eyes were drilling into her. ‘Who tipped you off?’

Clarke, however, was keeping her attention on the visitor. ‘QC Lettings used to be owned by Cafferty. You reckon he sold his dope empire to Mackenzie too?’

‘There’s no evidence of that.’ Dickinson was checking the impeccable crease down his left trouser leg.

‘Is it going to have any bearing on the murder investigation?’ Clarke was looking to Trask for guidance. Trask in turn looked back at Dickinson.

‘You might well turn something up in the course of your en­quiries. If that happens, we’d like it brought to our attention. We’ve been gathering information for the past several months and don’t want anything to jeopardise imminent or future proceedings.’

He talks like a textbook, Clarke thought. But at the same time, he had her hooked.

‘We’ve managed to stop several big shipments arriving into the UK,’ Dickinson went on. ‘And Brexit plus COVID have made it harder than ever to ship product anyway. That has led to constriction. We believe another delivery is due from the Continent, but right now, the harder drugs are proving difficult to source.’

‘Hence the upsurge in antisocial behaviour,’ Trask said, nodding to herself. ‘Pharmacies attacked, people lashing out on the Royal Mile and elsewhere …’

‘Of course,’ Dickinson said, clearing his throat, ‘there’s no sign of a general breakdown of law and order.’

‘If anyone asks, you mean?’ Clarke enquired.

‘If anyone asks,’ he confirmed.

She thought for a moment. ‘How does it work, though, Mackenzie’s operation?’

‘Many of his properties are rented to damaged people. I’d say that gives him a ready market. It’s mostly mephedrone, MDMA and speed – the usual “party” drugs. A bit of crystal meth, too.’

‘Plus coke and hash?’ Clarke wanted to know.

‘Plus coke and hash,’ Dickinson agreed.

‘We know Haggard was a user of both – does that make him one of Mackenzie’s customers?’