‘It’s because I need to. That’s why I warned the brass – whether in court or on the QT, Tynecastle has to pay. Then maybe I can begin the process of forgiving myself. That’s what my therapist says. I hate what I’ve become.’ He had shifted his gaze from Clarke to Esson. ‘What the job’s done to me, I mean, what it’s made me do to Cheryl. I’m just hoping it’s not too late.’

‘Whatever you’re paying this therapist of yours,’ Clarke stated, ‘it’s too much.’ She tried to make eye contact with her colleague, but Esson seemed transfixed by Haggard’s words. Rather than wait, Clarke made her exit, striding down the corridor and turning the corner, where she came to an abrupt stop, trying to control her breathing.

There was one I think you know …

‘Bloody John bloody Rebus,’ Clarke said in exasperation. She glanced up to see Esson approaching, looking thoughtful. ‘Christ’s sake, Christine.’

‘What?’

‘You’re falling for it.’

‘Says who?’

‘Focus on what he did, not what he’ll say in order to get off.’

‘He’s right, though, isn’t he? About what the job can do?’

‘He’s an abuser, Christine, end of. The smart ones get away with it because they’re plausible.’

‘I’m not stupid, Siobhan.’

‘Good, because that’s the last thing you need to be right now.’ Clarke broke off as Haggard and his solicitor turned the corner, heading for the front door. Haggard met her look, his face lacking obvious emotion, and not for the first time, she wished she could see inside someone’s head.

Clarke and Gina Hendry had agreed to meet at a café bar on Corstorphine Road. Hendry had a latte in front of her but was perusing the wine list when Clarke sat down opposite.

‘Shame it’s too early,’ she mused.

The first time they’d met, Clarke had asked the obvious question: how do you do it? To work domestic abuse liaison, you needed to be an ally to the victim yet at the same time maintain objectivity. You were part police officer, part psychologist, part social worker. Hendry had allowed her hair to go grey since they’d last met up, probably as a consequence of lockdown, yet still managed to look younger than her age, her face wrinkle-free, eyes lively, cheeks a natural pink. A waiter took Clarke’s order of a double espresso and barked it towards the counter. Hendry had chosen a table in a dimly lit corner rather than the window. Clarke suspected it was because the women she helped had ex-partners, some of whom would almost certainly bear a grudge. Best not to be too visible.

‘So he’s got his defence strategy,’ Hendry said without preamble.