‘But you joined the ranks after the worst of it – the worst of it for women like us, I mean. My very first day, I turned up at the station in my brand-new uniform, blouse starched, shoes polished. I was hauled into the locker room. They pulled my skirt up, stamped me with the words “Police Property”. Just one big fat joke to them, of course, and if you couldn’t take it, you were a killjoy. That became my nickname, by the way – from Kilgour to Killjoy.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Tynecastle wasn’t the only posting I had, but it left its mark, deeper than a bit of ink. We were supposed to make the tea while the best jobs were given to the men around us. It’s why so many of us couldn’t hack it.’

‘Still seems to be the case,’ Clarke said. ‘When I paid a visit, I didn’t see a single female face.’

‘Oh, there’ll be some – not allowed otherwise these days – but they’ll have their heads down and most will end up requesting a transfer. That’s what I did. But the job never felt the same afterwards. I quit as soon as I could.’

‘The rot goes way back, Siobhan,’ Fox interrupted, ‘and the stories are legion. But Josephine and the others have taken the decision to put it behind them and not relive it in court or an inter­view room.’

‘Reminds me, I forgot to check if you’re taping this.’ Kilgour looked at Clarke. ‘He tried one time, the cheeky sod, but I was wise to him.’

‘You remember what my excuse was?’ Fox asked her.

‘It showed how badly you wanted him,’ Kilgour said, nodding.

‘Him?’ Clarke prompted.

‘Alan Fleck,’ Kilgour obliged. ‘Tynecastle changed for the worse when he arrived, and worse still as he climbed the heap.’

‘Josephine had left by the time of the attack on Tony Barlow,’ Fox informed Clarke, ‘but she knew about it all the same.’

‘Didn’t seem to bother them that they’d screwed up. They had a whip-round at the station and sent it to his bedside. Just another casualty of the conflict …’ She looked at Fox, her eyes moist at the corners. ‘I don’t blame you for trying, but at the same time, I do, because it’s me that has to relive it.’

‘I know that, Josephine.’

She turned to Clarke. ‘And now he’s passing the baton to you, is that it? Or just bringing you on board?’

‘I wanted DI Clarke to understand why it matters,’ Fox answered her.

‘And I do,’ Clarke said quietly. She was about to add something, but when her phone pinged, she decided to check it. There was a text from Christine Esson on the screen. She frowned and locked eyes with Fox. ‘We maybe need to be going,’ she announced.

‘What’s up?’ he asked.