Fox got out of his car long enough to smell the air. There was a party on one of the balconies, just three or four people laughing at their good fortune while jazz played somewhere inside the flat. It was the sound of moneyed security. He thought of his own modest Oxgangs bungalow. Here was what he could have won. He could see through a glass door at ground level to where a concierge sat in front of a bank of screens, though the man seemed far more interested in his phone, feet up on the desk, knees bent. Above, Sinatra was singing about being flown to the moon. But if there was a moon up there somewhere, Malcolm Fox couldn’t see it.

When Clarke arrived on Rebus’s doorstep that evening, she found the door opening before she could announce her presence. Rebus was readying to take Brillo to the Meadows, accompanied by his daughter and granddaughter. Turned out Carrie took dance lessons somewhere nearby, and they sometimes caught up with Rebus afterwards for a bite.

‘I had fish fingers,’ Carrie announced.

‘And did Grandad cook them?’

The child gave Clarke a look like she might be suffering from some form of mental illness.

‘Come with us,’ Samantha said, sliding an arm under Clarke’s elbow. ‘Been ages since we caught up.’

So they talked as they walked, the conversation remaining light. Clarke skated over the surface of her recent workload, while Rebus looked relieved throughout that there was no opportunity for her to grill him further about Francis Haggard and Tynecastle police station. When Brillo dropped the ball at her feet, Clarke gave a mighty swipe, sending it flying.

‘Working off some of that tension?’ Rebus enquired.

‘You could play for Scotland!’ Carrie added excitedly.

Clarke smiled, then noticed that Rebus was looking up in the direction of Cafferty’s penthouse. The main room was in darkness. ‘Can’t let him go, can you?’ she commented.

‘No idea who you mean,’ Rebus answered.

‘Aye, right.’

‘Dad’s favourite expression,’ Samantha interjected, taking his hand and squeezing it. ‘Two positives but meaning the exact opposite. Very Scottish.’

‘Probably him who taught me it then,’ Clarke said. Samantha was looking at her.

‘Have I thanked you for helping Dad during lockdown?’

‘More than once.’

‘I’m not sure he deserves you.’

‘He doesn’t make it easy sometimes,’ Clarke answered, her voice falling away. She noticed Rebus almost lose his balance, taking a step to correct it.

‘It’s an inner-ear thing,’ he explained when he saw that she’d noticed. ‘Doctor says it’ll sort itself out.’

‘Not that he’s been to the doctor, you understand,’ Samantha announced. ‘You can maybe try, I’ve given up. He gets chest pains, too.’

‘Indigestion,’ Rebus muttered. ‘Couple of Rennies and I’m right as rain.’

‘You’re not, though,’ Samantha chided him.

Clarke was checking the time on her phone. ‘I’d best be off.’