‘Under orders from ACC Lyon, I presume?’ She watched Fox consider his response and then offer a brief nod. ‘The stuff about Mackenzie and Pelham was interesting,’ she conceded, watching as Fox reacted to a ping from his phone. He dug it out and studied the screen.

‘Some right-wing news site,’ he explained to her. ‘They’re having a dig at the Courant. “Maybe the heroes are the bad guys”,’ he recited.

‘What does that mean?’

He read on. ‘“Sticking to the letter of the law means criminals go free. What we need right now are more Gene Hunts and less Sam Tylers.”’

‘They mean “fewer”,’ Clarke said, ‘and maybe more subeditors.’

‘I don’t get the reference.’

‘That TV show from a few years back, Life on Mars.’

‘Never watched it.’

‘Cop goes back in time and basically finds himself surrounded by the cast of The Sweeney – I’m assuming you used to watch that?’

‘When I was a kid, sure. Never liked the way they did things.’

‘You were born for Complaints, Malcolm.’

‘Sometimes I think I was. Cops who go off piste are anything but heroes in my book.’

‘Social media says otherwise.’

‘Social media, as you well know, is a complete bear pit.’

‘Is that why you get alerts every time a right-wing news site adds a story?’

‘Know your enemy, Siobhan.’

‘I can’t work you out, Malcolm.’ He looked at her. ‘You come across as a mahoosive prick half the time, but the other half I sometimes find myself agreeing with and even almost liking you.’

‘I wonder which half I need to work on.’ He thought for a moment. ‘The photo sent to Cafferty – what’s that all about?’

‘Beats me.’

‘Where was I when this tip came in?’

‘Swanning around town with the boss.’

‘And Cafferty says it never happened?’

‘Which means it definitely did.’

North Bridge was shut off to traffic heading north – long-standing repairs – but they were heading south. As she made to signal left onto Canongate itself, however, Clarke remembered that more repairs had blocked the road at the St Mary’s Street junction. Cursing, she turned down Blackfriars Street, then left on Cowgate and left again, rejoining Canongate just past the roadworks.

‘Glad you’re driving,’ Fox told her as he busied himself with his phone.

A few hardy tourists were out and about, gift shops reopened and ready to welcome them. The road was surfaced with setts, increasing the noise level in the Astra’s cabin and giving Clarke and Fox an excuse to stop conversing. They were halfway to the Parliament building when Clarke pulled up onto the pavement and stopped the car. She reached under her seat for the sign that told the parking attendants police business was being undertaken.

‘This where he lives?’ Fox queried.

‘Yes.’

‘He works at the Parliament, though.’ He turned his phone towards her, showing the results of his Google search.

‘Tell me he’s not an MSP,’ Clarke muttered.