Chris managed to find a parking space in one of the closer car parks and they headed down the concrete steps towards the main hospital entrance.

‘Acute Medical Unit.’ Clare indicated the overhead sign.

‘Let’s take the lift,’ Chris said. ‘The way your head is I don’t trust you on the stairs.’

‘Thought you were scared of lifts?’

‘I’m more scared of you nosediving two floors, to be honest.’

Clare had to admit she was feeling distinctly wobbly after walking from the car park and she hadn’t the energy to argue.

As the enormous lift door trundled back Chris said, ‘How do you want to play it?’

‘Let’s start from Thursday night at the cottage. See whose version her story supports.’

The lift began to descend the two floors to the unit and Clare put out a hand to support herself. Chris gripped her elbow. ‘Seriously, Clare, you need to go home.’

‘Soon as we’ve spoken to Gaby.’

The doors trundled open and they emerged onto a landing, following signs for the Unit. It was as busy as Clare had ever seen it, medical staff rushing back and forward. A nurse at the reception desk was on the phone and Clare glanced at a whiteboard, studying the list of patient names. Then she saw G Fox. ‘Looks like they’ve got her in a side room. At least they’ve not put her full name on the board.’

‘Good idea,’ Chris said. ‘Publicity and all that.’

They walked round the unit until they saw Janey and Bill standing outside one of the rooms. ‘We okay to go in?’ Clare said.

Janey nodded. ‘Doc said not too long, though. She’s a bit hoarse from the tube down her throat so talking might be an issue.’

‘Thanks, Janey. Could you radio the station and get a couple of uniforms up here? I don’t want her to have any visitors – not even the husband. I need someone outside this room at all times. As soon as the uniforms arrive you can get back to the station.’

Janey took out her phone. ‘I’ll see if Dundee can help. Be quicker than coming from St Andrews.’

Clare left Janey to her call and pushed open the door to the room. Gaby Fox lay on top of the bed, eyes closed. There was a plaster across the back of her hand, securing a drip, a bruise spreading out from beneath the tape. She was pale and her hair, normally so thick and lustrous, sat flat against her head, almost unrecognisable as the celebrity who graced the nation’s TV screens on weekday mornings.

Chris moved to pull two chairs over to the bed and, at this, Gaby opened her eyes. She frowned, as though trying to place them. Then she said, ‘Inspector?’ Her voice was croaky.

Clare smiled. ‘How are you, Gaby?’