‘I didn’t know Francis Haggard.’ Gaby paused. ‘You did, though, didn’t you, you or Dad? One of you had to give him the tour of the flat.’

‘I suppose so.’ Her mother gave an all-too-audible sigh. ‘Reckless behaviour isn’t good for business, Gabrielle.’

‘I’m not reckless, I’m young – there’s a difference.’

‘Why that tenement, though?’

‘It was closest, that’s all. And now, if you don’t mind, I have to get my set ready for tonight.’

‘Will you eat with us first?’

‘Only if you promise to debug my phone.’

‘I just want you to be safe, darling. We all need to be careful.’

Gaby felt her shoulders slump. ‘I know.’

‘So I’ll see you later?’

‘Just make sure it’s vegetarian. And remember – chicken doesn’t count.’

‘It so nearly does, though, doesn’t it?’

‘Nearly,’ Gaby conceded with a tired smile. Then she put her phone down next to her, reattached her headphones to her ears, and concentrated on her music.

James Pelham was rising to his feet, readying to leave, when Fox arrived at the restaurant. Fox had been biding his time, not really wanting to sit down with the man. When he’d called ACC Lyon to ask for the Complaints files, she’d told him his timing was perfect and there was someone she wanted him to meet. She was having a drink with him that very afternoon at Peacock Alley.

‘It’s in the Waldorf Astoria,’ she had informed him.

‘Edinburgh folk still call it the Caledonian,’ Fox had countered.

‘Well, I’m not from Edinburgh, Malcolm …’

The man she wanted him to meet was her old friend James Pelham, which was why Fox hadn’t exactly rushed to the scene. Even after arriving, he had lingered in the lobby, watching discreetly as Lyon checked her watch and phone and craned her neck in an effort to locate him. Finally Pelham had risen to his feet and given her hand a squeeze, which Fox took as his cue.

‘Malcolm, at long last,’ Jennifer Lyon said coolly. ‘Meet James.’

Fox shook the proffered hand and managed something approximating a nod of greeting. Pelham, however, didn’t even bother making eye contact. He had extracted two crisp twenty-pound notes from a wallet and, despite Lyon’s protest, placed them next to his glass.

‘Another time,’ he said. ‘I have a meeting I need to get to.’ And with that he was gone. Lyon fixed Fox with a scowl as he sat in what had been Pelham’s chair.

‘He would have been a useful man for you to meet,’ she said, tipping the dregs of her drink into her mouth. A waiter arrived, but Fox shook his head and he retreated, eyes on the banknotes.