Chalmers pointed through the window. ‘Here we go.’ She pulled up in front of yet another barely detached sandstone-clad box, blocking the Audi and Renault parked on the driveway. Then wiped her hands on the steering wheel, leaving a shiny film behind. ‘Guv, about the death message. . .’

‘Let me guess, you’re not keen? ’ Logan slipped the printouts back into the file. ‘Our victim had form for stealing cars and breaking into places to rob them. Sound familiar? ’

‘The jewellery job.’

‘Car was stolen a couple of streets away from here, used in a robbery, then dumped and burned just past Thainstone Mart. Next to Guy Ferguson’s body.’

Chalmers left another layer of palm sweat on the steering wheel. ‘They do the job, then his mates turn on him after they’ve divvied up the loot. Maybe he was holding out on them? ’

‘Could be.’ Logan climbed out into the warm afternoon. ‘What about the registered keeper? ’

‘Straight up, far as I can tell: no record in the PNC. Pretty hacked off to lose the car too, was a present from his dad.’ She straightened her wrinkly suit, then marched up to the front door and rang the bell.

A minute later, it was opened by a wee girl in a bright yellow dress with bears on it, head a mess of black curls. She looked up at DS Chalmers with big blue eyes, then stuck her thumb in her mouth.

A voice came from somewhere inside: a man. ‘Who is it, Bella? ’

The thumb came out with a soft pop. ‘My name’s Bella and I’m five and I’m getting a pony for my birthday.’

Chalmers hunkered down until she was roughly at eye-level. ‘Hello, Bella, my name’s Lorna. Can you tell your mummy and daddy the police are here and they need to speak to them? ’

A nod sent her curls bobbing, then she turned and shouted back into the house. ‘It’s the pigs!’ Before squealing her way down the corridor, arms waving above her head. ‘You’ll never take me alive, Copper!’

Chalmers cleared her throat. ‘Well that was . . . nice.’

A man poked his head out into the corridor. Pulled a face. Then sauntered towards them: jeans, flannel shirt, the top of his head poking through a crown of greying frizz. He wiped his hands on a tea towel. ‘Sorry about that – someone let her watch Life on Mars the other day and she’s been impossible ever since.’ He gave them a smile. ‘How can I help? ’

Logan stepped forward. ‘Mr Ferguson? ’

The smile slipped a little. ‘Yes? ’

‘Can we come in please, Mr Ferguson? We need to talk.’