Clarke thought of something. ‘You don’t use a stringer, do you?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Taking pictures for you.’

‘People send me stuff, but as yet I can’t afford to pay.’

‘Anything arrive tonight?’

‘Like what?’

‘A nightspot called the Elemental Club on Blair Street. Tyne­castle’s finest on the randan.’

‘Oh, I know they go there, or some of them do, the ones with no wives and cash to spare.’

‘Someone was taking pics as they trooped in.’

‘Meaning you were there too – hence the alcohol intake?’

‘I was working.’

‘Do tell.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Oh – here’s that light you were talking about. What will the neighbours think? Is it safe to go to the window now?’

‘Probably.’ Clarke listened as Smith rose from her chair and crossed the living room.

‘Patrol car’s in the middle of the road, meaning I can’t see the other car.’

‘It’s still there, though?’

‘Does that mean he’s probably got nothing to hide?’

‘We’ll know soon enough.’

Clarke waited in silence, her eyes on her phone in case she got either a text or an incoming call. After ninety seconds, Smith came back on the line.

‘Car’s leaving. Will the police want to talk to me, do you think? Wait – one of them’s coming up the path.’

Clarke heard Smith’s doorbell ring. Then the sounds of her walking to the door and unlocking it. A brief muffled conversation and the door closed again, Smith lifting the phone to her mouth.

‘It was James Pelham,’ she said, a fresh tremor in her voice. ‘He told them he stopped to make a call.’

‘On his way where?’

‘I didn’t ask.’

‘I assume he’s not a neighbour?’

‘Nothing like.’ Smith paused. ‘He knows, doesn’t he?’

‘Knows what?’

‘That I’m the Courant. Meaning the one who flagged up his adultery for all the world to see.’

‘You’re sure it was the same car last night?’

‘What am I going to do? Why was he here?’

‘I don’t think he’ll come back, Laura, not now. Try to get some sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow.’

‘Thanks, Siobhan.’ Clarke could hear her taking a deep breath. ‘And if anything does happen regarding the Francis Haggard story …’

Clarke ended the call. Her phone rang almost immediately. The patrol repeated the version they’d told Laura Smith.

‘She says he was there two nights running,’ Clarke informed the officer. ‘Reckon he always stops there to make late-night calls?’

‘Don’t know,’ was the eventual reply. ‘But this is James Pelham we’re talking about. It’s not like he was casing the joint.’

‘Well, thanks for keeping an open mind. Maybe ask patrols to cruise that street the next night or two just in case.’ She paused. ‘You took note of the licence plate, yes?’

The silence on the line was as telling as any spoken answer.