DI Bancho drew up outside the black, wrought-iron electric gates. By Christ, he thought, there must be a hell of a load of money involved in making women’s fronts look like flotation devices these days. The fact that some guy, barely in his thirties, had managed to accumulate all of this rankled a lot. PC Sheehy and PC Alex Lodge were already there, waiting. It wasn’t often that the police had occasion to patrol these quiet, moneyed streets, and their arrival was attracting a lot of interest. The inspector pressed the button on the intercom system; it buzzed and then a woman answered. Her voice was cultured and aloof, an archetypal Edinburgh accent.

‘Evening, ma’am,’ Bancho said. He coughed, wondering how to phrase his request as to whether they could talk to her other half about his naked pictures. ‘Detective Inspector Bancho from St Leonards police station here…erm, is your husband in?’ There was a crackling silence, then another buzz and the gates swung open. Bancho flicked his hand and beckoned PC Sheehy and PC Lodge to follow him. It was a pitch-black night but the solar lights lit the driveway to the house. An outside lamp came on next to the outsize maple front door. It all looked very welcoming. Bancho wondered how long that would last.

Alison Marshall’s black dress clung to every curve. She was in terrific shape and she knew it–she had, after all, had the best of cosmetic surgery on tap, given her husband’s profession. ‘About time you showed up,’ she said, throwing a half-finished cigarette down onto the pathway. ‘What took you so bloody long? I reported the break-in weeks ago. Just because nothing was taken, doesn’t mean you can just ignore me. And why does my husband need to be here? Scared of dealing with a woman?’ Alison Marshall was squaring up to DI Bancho and, from what he could tell, there was an accent behind the words that wasn’t all Morningside.

‘I think there’s been some mistake, ma’am,’ piped up Sheehy. ‘We’re not here about the break-in.’

‘It’s been nearly two months! I’ve called the police station four times and left God knows how many messages and you tell me it’s not about the break-in?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Well, what the hell is it about, then?’

‘I think it would be best if we discussed this in comfort.’ Bancho nodded and put his hands out in front of him in an effort to shoo Mrs Marshall inside, but she wasn’t for shifting. ‘The neighbours,’ Bancho whispered, and flicked his eyes up to the next-door neighbour’s curtains which were already twitching. ‘I don’t think you’ll want the neighbours to hear what we have to say.’ Alison Marshall followed his eyes up to the offending window, did an about-turn and said, ‘You’d better come in then.’