‘It’s all working out,’ Cafferty confirmed with a nod. He would wait until Andrew had left the room before attempting to pick up the mug. He didn’t like people noticing the slight tremor in his hands.

Christine Esson was driving home when Ronnie Ogilvie called her.

‘How are you doing?’ she asked him.

‘Minimal discomfort.’

‘Need anything bringing?’

‘I think I’m fine for tonight. Just bored.’

‘So you’re going through your contacts and you’ve reached E?’

‘Is that you finished for the day?’

‘Thank God.’

‘A hard one?’

‘Thanks to half the force putting their feet up like you.’

‘So what have you been doing?’

‘Driving around looking for Haggard.’

‘He’s gone AWOL?’

‘Seems so.’

‘Edinburgh’s a small city. His options are limited.’

‘Thanks, Sherlock.’

‘Though I suppose some brethren aren’t going to bust a gut hunting down one of their own – present company not included, obviously.’

‘Obviously.’

‘How’s it working out with Siobhan?’

Esson gave a sigh she knew would be audible. ‘We seem to be cut from different cloth, Ronnie. I never used to think that, but I do now.’

‘You joined a profession, Christine. With Siobhan, every case is more likely to turn into a crusade.’

Esson nodded along as she signalled to turn right. ‘We had to visit Tynecastle. Could have done with some armour and shields.’

‘Did they close ranks? Only to be expected.’

‘Except we also suspect they broke into Francis Haggard’s home and trashed it.’

‘Because of what he did to his wife?’

‘Because his defence is that working at Tynecastle is what drove him to it. And now he’s scarpered and could be anywhere.’

‘He’s scared they’ll come after him?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Work’s finished, Christine. Go home, forget about it for a few hours, maybe watch a film.’

‘I dare say you can suggest some.’ She signalled left. Five more minutes and she’d be at her front door. Ronnie was right: the job was just that to her, a job. Once upon a time it had maybe meant more, but not these days. The uniforms at Tynecastle might be pigs, but they were pigs with a sense of purpose, while she was beginning to doubt, beginning to coast.

‘First thing I’m doing after quarantine,’ Ogilvie was saying, ‘is hitting a wine bar.’

‘I hope I’m invited.’

‘Of course. And maybe Haggard will be done and dusted by then.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’

‘Do you think Siobhan will hand it back to me?’

‘I wouldn’t bet on that either.’

‘She’s found herself another crusade?’

‘Something like that. Bye, Ronnie.’

‘Wine night is coming, Christine. Hang in there.’

She ended the call and drove the final few hundred yards in silence, Ogilvie’s words echoing around her brain.

Hang in there … hang in there … hang in there …

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