As the four detectives prepared to leave, Esson rounded her desk and leaned down towards Clarke’s ear. ‘So Gamble’s a gambler – I’m sure there’s a term for that.’

Clarke noticed that Malcolm Fox was approaching.

‘While we’re waiting,’ he said to Esson, ‘maybe you can spare Siobhan for an hour? There’s someone I’d like her to meet.’

‘Maybe she feels need of a wingman,’ Esson retorted.

‘I think I’ll be fine,’ Clarke told her, lifting her jacket from the back of her chair.

27

They parked outside a row of colony flats in Shandon. Clarke had never been inside one before, but she knew the layout. You accessed the ground-floor property one side of the building, and its upper-floor equivalent via steps around the other side. She didn’t know if they were unique to Edinburgh or what the reasoning was behind them, but they were usually found in what had been – and sometimes still were – working-class areas. Fox seemed to know his way, locking his Merc and leading Clarke briskly through the gate, along the garden path and up the steep stone staircase. He was obviously expected, as the red-painted door was open by the time they reached it.

‘Hello again, Josephine,’ he said to the middle-aged woman standing there. ‘This is DI Siobhan Clarke. Siobhan, this is Josephine Kilgour.’

Kilgour led them into an overheated living room stuffed with knick-knacks. A plug-in electric heater was supplementing the radi­ators, yet she still felt the need for a buttoned-up cardigan, below which Clarke reckoned there were at least three further layers. The woman sat down heavily on the room’s only armchair, leaving Clarke and Fox the squishy sofa. There was obviously to be no offer of refreshments. Clarke peeled off her jacket before she sat, Fox doing the same with his dark woollen coat.

‘He’s persistent, I’ll give him that,’ Kilgour said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Her voice was a west coast rasp.

‘I just wanted DI Clarke to hear a little of the background,’ Fox explained.

Kilgour’s eyes fixed on Clarke. ‘He thinks if he keeps chipping away, he’ll end up with a statue of me in court giving testimony.’

Clarke had noticed a couple of framed photos of a much younger Kilgour in uniform. ‘You worked at Tynecastle,’ she commented. Kilgour’s gaze shifted to Fox.

‘I didn’t want DI Clarke prejudging anything,’ he explained. Kilgour considered this before turning her attention back to Clarke and drawing in a breath.

‘Me and Tynecastle go back a ways,’ she began. ‘Even to before Alan Fleck was promoted to sergeant. That’s how old I am. You’d have been in primary school.’

‘Secondary maybe,’ Clarke couldn’t help correcting her.