When Clare thought back to that moment, she remembered the hours of training they’d undergone. Those early Sunday mornings in some deserted warehouse, sometimes in riot gear, sometimes not. Minutes after arriving they’d be given a scenario to take in, then the mock-up of a hostage situation would materialise before them. Yelling, shouting, people rushing in, terrified hostages screaming. And they made split-second decisions which would be pored over later, in great detail. How they’d cursed those Sunday mornings. How many times had she written them off as a waste of time? But now, standing in this charming cottage, less than ten feet from a man who seemed to have nothing to lose, she was thankful for them.

In one seamless movement, Bill, burly, overweight Bill, king of the sweaty armpits, had dashed the knife from David’s hand with a well-aimed fist as Chris grabbed his other hand, forcing it up his back. There was a howl from Luke as a handful of his hair went in David’s grasp and he fell forward, weeping and clutching his head. Then he scrambled to his feet and stumbled into Clare, desperate to escape his assailant. Clare scooped him up and held onto him, preventing him from leaving the room while Chris informed David he was under arrest. Clare took Luke through to the kitchen while Janey called for an ambulance and another car to take David back to the station.

‘Janey, go in the ambulance with him,’ Clare said when the paramedics appeared. ‘Bill, are you okay? Need medical attention?’

‘Nah, I’m fine,’ he said, waving her concern away.

‘Then follow the ambulance in your car, please. Once you get to hospital you and Janey are to stay with him at all times. And I want to know when he’s fit to be interviewed. Check with the docs before saying a word. And ask him nothing without cautioning him. We play this one by the book.’

Bill went off to follow the ambulance. Nita had appeared with another officer from Cupar and they took David Fox to their car.

‘Straight to the station with him,’ Clare said.

When they had gone she looked round the room. The red settee Luke had been sitting on was stained where he’d wet himself and the knife which had flown across the room had made a deep score in a side table.

‘If this wasn’t Doug Gerrard’s cottage,’ Clare said, ‘I’d feel for the owner. As it is, I’m just sorry they didn’t make more of a mess.’

They walked slowly out of the cottage. ‘Good work,’ Clare said to Chris. ‘You and Bill.’ She nodded. ‘I was impressed.’

‘Well that’s a first,’ he said. Then he stopped. ‘Clare…’

‘Yeah?’

‘Look sorry to pick you up on this but, all that stuff Luke told us. You didn’t caution him.’

Clare shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. We can’t use any of it.’