‘Morris Gerald Cafferty? MGC Lettings?’ The prompt elicited nothing more than a shrug. ‘Fraser told me the pair of them were close,’ Rebus said, rubbing at his jaw.

‘Funny, I thought he told you the precise opposite.’ She paused, enjoying his reaction. ‘It’s not the most solid of doors, and Mr Mackenzie’s voice does tend to carry. Goodbye, Mr Rebus.’

Christine Esson had given the neighbours her number, so it was her they called. They were waiting in the corridor outside the Haggards’ flat when Esson and Clarke arrived. Their names were Anthony and Giselle Carrington, and they both worked in finance. Early thirties, casually but not cheaply dressed. Clarke could imagine them sharing yoga sessions and smoothies. They looked so similar, they could have passed for siblings. Giselle’s arms were folded and she shifted from one foot to the other, signs that the break-in had unnerved her. Anthony gestured towards their neighbours’ door. A tool of some kind had been used to prise it open.

‘Did either of you go in?’ Clarke asked. They both shook their heads.

‘Came back with the shopping, found it like this,’ Giselle said.

Clarke looked up and down the corridor. ‘Any CCTV?’

‘Just at the main entrance,’ Anthony answered. ‘We all have video monitors in our hallways. You can check who’s outside before you let them in.’

‘There’s a concierge,’ Giselle added. ‘They’re supposed to keep an eye open.’

Clarke nodded and looked at Esson.

‘Scene of crime are on their way,’ Esson confirmed, ‘but it’s a busy day.’

‘We could maybe risk it.’

Clarke dug out the disposable gloves Esson had given her in the car. Esson had a pair of her own. They slipped off their shoes and Clarke pushed the door all the way open. A vase on a hall stand had been toppled and lay in pieces on the varnished wooden floor. The glass in two paintings was cracked. She edged into the open-plan living area. The crockery in the kitchen area was untouched, but drawers had been opened and emptied, making the floor treacherous. A wooden coffee table had been upended. The blinds in front of the glass doors leading to the balcony had been hauled down, and out on the balcony itself, flowerpots had been upturned, strewing soil and bulbs everywhere. Clarke paused for a moment to take in the view across Newhaven harbour towards the Firth of Forth.

‘Cheryl doesn’t have a job, does she?’ she asked Esson.

‘I think she’d have liked one, but Haggard wanted her at home.’

‘Stephanie hinted that her husband gave them a good deal on the place. You knew this was one of his developments?’ She watched Esson nod. ‘Looks like she had a hand in the decor, too. Reckon anything’s been taken?’

‘Hard to say.’