‘There should be enough desk space,’ she announced to the room at large as she strode in, leaving Clarke and Fox in her slipstream. ‘I’ll let you get acquainted and set up. Couple more faces still to join us, but they’re currently stuck in traffic.’ She walked to a door at the far side of the room and flung it open. ‘Not the stationery cupboard but apparently my inner sanctum – lucky me. The door will stay open, mostly. If it’s closed, there’ll be a compelling reason.’ She saw that Esson was over at the kettle, adding supplies from a carrier bag. ‘Excellent show of initiative. Let’s hope for more of that over the next few days and weeks. DI Fox here, on secondment from Gartcosh, will be doling out your various tasks – just as soon as I’ve told him what those tasks are.’ She crooked a finger, signalling for Fox to join her in her cramped office.

Clarke walked over to Christine Esson. ‘Has Malcolm been on to you at all?’

Esson started peeling the cellophane from a box of tea bags. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Just that some of the things he’s saying about Haggard could have come straight from you.’

Esson had moved on to shaking the kettle, then peering into its depths as if to ascertain how long the contents had been sitting there.

‘He has, hasn’t he?’ Clarke said.

‘Does it matter?’

‘I said last night, I need us to be on the same side, Christine.’

‘We are, if you hadn’t noticed.’ Esson made a sweeping motion, taking in the whole office.

‘So if it comes down to me versus Fox …?’

Esson was saved from answering by two more arrivals, both of them known quantities. Clarke was surprised to find that DS George Gamble had not yet quite retired. He was as stout and red-faced as ever, breathing heavily after surviving the flight of stairs. DS Tess Leighton could not have been more different, pale, tall and willowy, as if she shunned both sunshine and nourishment. They waved a greeting before approaching the DCI’s doorway in order to introduce themselves. Meantime, the two faces new to Clarke were being drawn as if by a magnet to the vicinity of the kettle. They introduced themselves as DC Colin King and DC Jason Ritchie.

‘It’s Jason’s first murder case,’ King said. ‘He’s like a kid at Christmas.’

King was probably only two or three years Ritchie’s senior, but he had about him the air of an older, wiser brother, a role Ritchie seemed happy enough to play along with. Both were sandy-haired, probably early to mid twenties. Ritchie’s cheeks had a pink glow to them, making him appear even younger. He was wiry, while King was bulkier, his shirt straining over his stomach. Clarke and Esson introduced themselves in turn.