Lloyd blinked a few times as he considered Clarke’s question. ‘I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure we had one more flight to climb.’

‘Okay, so you followed her back out onto the street?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘And she was still running. Took me a few moments to work out what was happening. The main door had clicked shut, so I couldn’t get back in. And she was disappearing round the corner with my bloody phone.’

‘In your shoes, I’d probably have given chase,’ Fox said. ‘Not least because I’d imagine there might be security implications, with you being an adviser at the Parliament and everything.’

Lloyd looked chastened. ‘Maybe if I hadn’t been so drunk …’ He rallied a little. ‘I reckoned I could talk to the party host, get some contact details for her. But first I had to source a replacement phone, then today I had work …’

‘The one thing you should have done was talk to us,’ Clarke reprimanded him.

‘I didn’t think I had any real information.’

‘Not your decision to make, sir,’ Fox said coldly. ‘You’ve just told us that at some point you realised you’d stumbled on a murder scene.’

They watched Lloyd give a little shiver. ‘We need a description,’ Clarke added.

‘Of my phone?’ Lloyd seemed puzzled.

‘Of the woman you planned to have anonymous sex with,’ Clarke corrected him.

‘Christ, yes, of course.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Short, slim, dark hair cut in a spiky style. Red leather skirt, black top, black leather jacket, boots.’

‘Age?’

‘Mid twenties, maybe a little older.’

‘Local accent?’

‘Yes. Educated, I’d say.’

‘Anything else?’

He shook his head. Clarke handed him a card. ‘In case she gets in touch,’ she said.

‘How would she do that?’ He saw the look on their faces and made show of slapping his head. ‘She has my phone and passcode,’ he answered, looking like the bright kid in class who’s suddenly been found wanting.

One phone call got Rebus the address he needed. Laura Smith was a reporter who used to be her newspaper’s crime correspondent but now, as she told him, was doing general and local news as well. Cutbacks, she’d explained with a sigh, seeming to perk up when Rebus asked if she could get him a home address for Fraser Mackenzie.

‘Something cooking, John?’

‘If there is, you’ll be the first person invited to the table.’

Her text had arrived ten minutes later. An address in Cramond. Rebus took Brillo with him, in case he needed to pose as a man walking his dog.