‘No,’ he said. It came to him that he hadn’t tendered his resignation yet and that he should do it soon. If he were any sort of cop he’d have protected Fran; he couldn’t be in a position again where he put another life at risk.

‘John Fowler confessed.’ It was as if she hadn’t heard the negative. She smelled faintly of citrus. Expensive citrus. She’d done something different to her hair. Perhaps she had a new man. There were always rumours of the Fiscal’s men. ‘He was happy to talk but we found a confession on his laptop too. At least, more a series of excuses than a confession.’

‘He had no choice,’ Perez said. ‘Besides, that was what he wanted all the time. To tell his story.’

‘You knew it was him?’ She’d ordered a pot of coffee and poured him a cup.

‘A gut feeling at the beginning maybe,’ Perez admitted. He looked up and gave the first flash of a smile. He knew what lawyers made of gut feelings. ‘He seemed so uptight. A little strange. And there was the name of his bookshop.’

Rhona looked up sharply. ‘Which was?’

‘Numenius Books. It seemed a strange sort of name. I looked it up. Numenius is the scientific name for curlew. But it could have been a coincidence and we had no evidence, no motive until the DNA analysis of the feathers. Then I spoke to a few people and found out that Fowler had been travelling in the former Soviet Union at around the same time as Angela. Stella Monkton’s confession on her daughter’s behalf that Angela had stolen Fowler’s research confirmed it, of course. Angela wrote to her about it after asking if they could meet up.’

Rhona leaned back in her chair. ‘Why don’t you tell me, Jimmy? In your own way.’

Perez was tempted to get up and walk out. You know already. Sandy will have done a report. Although the spelling and the grammar will be crap, he’ll have set out the details. But he stayed. This was his last case. Might as well see it through for one more time.