‘I’ll make sure my shirt’s freshly pressed.’ He retreated to his desk.

‘Freshly pressed?’ Leighton echoed.

‘Don’t even start,’ Clarke said with a sigh as Leighton moved off. Ignoring the scowling Esson seated across from her, she typed the name Fraser Mackenzie into Google and pulled up a screen’s-worth of images, starting at the top and scrolling down. Unless the man had had a drastic makeover, he didn’t in the least fit the description given of Gaby Mackenzie’s chauffeur.

‘Do you want me to send you the stuff from Stephanie’s phone?’ she asked Esson.

‘If you can bear to share.’

‘I reckon I can force myself.’

With a few clicks, it was done. Some things were easy, others not.

‘Thanks,’ Esson said, slightly less grudgingly than Clarke had been expecting.

‘Always welcome,’ Clarke replied, their eyes meeting across the wide expanse of desk. She was about to add something, but Esson had plugged her earphones in, the better to listen to the footage.

‘Always welcome,’ she repeated under her breath.

18

Gaby Mackenzie was at the place she felt most comfortable and safe, The Elemental Club, setting everything up for later in the day. Downstairs from her DJ rig, staff were restocking the bar. Someone had decided that a bit of Bach cello suited the mood, and it was playing softly over the speakers. Gaby didn’t mind. She’d borrowed from classical music plenty of times, and she had an ear open right now, wondering if there was anything worth sampling. When her phone buzzed, she almost didn’t answer, but it was her mum, finally getting back to her. She slipped off her headphones and raised the device to her ear.

‘I left a hundred messages,’ she complained.

‘So I see,’ her mother purred. ‘Everything’s all right, though? C told me you were in a bit of a state. We can probably lodge a complaint.’

‘It’s not the police I was pissed off with. You’ve done something to my phone. I want it undone today, or else it goes in the bin and I make sure you don’t get anywhere near its replacement.’

‘What did the police want, Gaby?’ Her mother’s tone had changed, hardening several degrees. ‘You were there, weren’t you? Francis Haggard’s flat, I mean?’

‘You tell me, you’re the one bugging my phone.’

‘What happened, did you meet someone?’

‘As it so happens. And I was headed to the flat upstairs, where I could have mindless sex with a man whose name I hadn’t even caught.’ There was silence on the line for a moment.

‘And that’s all you’ve got to tell me?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you didn’t know Francis Haggard?’

‘What makes you think I did?’

‘He worked at Tynecastle.’

‘So?’

‘So some of his colleagues frequent Elemental, no?’