‘The sister. Mother died a few years ago. The father’s still alive but apparently has dementia.’

Clare was suddenly aware of the DCI hovering. ‘Al,’ she said, ‘just you get away. I’ll phone you later.’

‘I could come back for you – when you’re finished here.’

She shook her head. ‘Chris can run me home.’ She moved a little away from Chris and took the DCI’s hand, briefly. ‘Thanks, Al. I mean, for yesterday. For coming. I’ll… I’ll call you later.’

He flicked a glance at Chris then gave her a smile. ‘Speak soon.’ And, with that, he began walking back to his car.

Clare watched him go for a few seconds then she turned back to Chris. ‘Okay. Let’s head for the hotel. See what they have to say for themselves.’

Chapter 4

The Brodies was a small chain of boutique Scottish hotels which had grown in popularity over the past ten years. The CEO, Matthew Brodie, was on record stating that he’d wanted to create a group of hotels that wasn’t recognisably a chain. He’d sought buildings which were notably quirky and had fitted each out to be unique in character. In a few cases he’d purchased land and erected new buildings and The Brodie St Andrews was one of these. It sat a couple of miles west of the town overlooking rich farmland on the Strathkinness High Road. Chris swung the car round into a tarmacked drive, nosing into a space at the end of the car park.

They emerged from the car and took in the building. The outer walls were a mix of a smooth white render and large picture windows with black frames. But there was little adornment, other than the trademark Brodie plaque set into the front wall.

Clare looked up as they walked towards the entrance. The whole building was terraced, giving the two upper storeys balconies running the length of the building. ‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’ she said.

Chris seemed temporarily lost for words. Then he said, ‘It’s a bit plain, don’t you think? Boxy.’

‘It’s modernist, Detective Sergeant.’

‘Is that the same as ugly?’

‘Peasant!’ She stood as the bronzed glass door slid noiselessly back then walked into the cool interior. The entrance hall was laid in large grey floor tiles, the walls off-white. A huge triptych hung behind a mahogany reception desk depicted a Japanese garden, the only note of colour in an otherwise muted palette. To the right of the desk was a small lounge with high stools arranged round a circular bar, a barman dressed in black standing in the centre. Clare approached the reception desk then remembered she had no idea who they were here to see.

Chris moved forward, flashed his warrant card and spoke to the receptionist keeping his voice low. ‘We’re here to see Ms Fox. Preferably somewhere private.’