When the meeting finally ended it was still raining. Rhona looked at her watch and decided that there was no point going back to the office. She’d already handed over responsibility for the North Mainland killings to her assistant and there was little else that required her urgent attention. She waited until the room was empty, gathering papers in an attempt to look busy, before leaving, and was surprised to see Joe Sinclair still in the corridor. Had he been waiting for her? He fell into step beside her as they walked down the stairs.

‘I don’t know about you,’ he said, ‘but I could really use a drink after that. A few hours on the water is what’s really needed to clear my head, but a drink would be the next best thing. What about you?’ The invitation surprised her, but she found herself agreeing to go along with him. Not because the idea of a drink was so enticing, but because she couldn’t face returning immediately to an empty house, because the evening stretched ahead of her. Because, left alone, she would panic again and might even end up crying.

He suggested the bar of the Mareel, the new arts centre. She was surprised. She wouldn’t have had him down as a man who liked the theatre or art-house cinema. Waiting at the table while he went to the bar, she trawled her memory for what she knew of him.

He lived in Brae and was married, with two grown-up daughters. Happily married, she supposed. She’d never heard rumours to the contrary. The bar was empty. It was still early. Perhaps this was where he brought his other women, his secret lovers. The thought made her smile for the first time that day.

He returned with two glasses of red wine. ‘I’d have got a bottle, but we’re both driving.’ So it was unlikely then that he was trying to proposition her. There was a small prick of disappointment. Had it come to this, that she couldn’t even attract an overweight Shetlander in late middle age?

‘What do you make of this place?’ she asked. ‘Will they make a go of it?’ The arts centre had been controversial from its inception. Too expensive, some people had said. Too grandiose and flashy. Not needed in a place like Lerwick.

‘I hope so.’ He tasted the wine and seemed satisfied. ‘It’s here now. We need to support it.’ He paused. ‘The police were at my office this afternoon. Jimmy Perez and that woman.’ And she thought that was why he’d brought her here. Not for sex or romance, but for information. Was he just an old gossip after all? Or was his motive more sinister?