‘You said you wouldn’t mention that again.’

Clare smiled. ‘Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Just slipped out! But, seriously, Chris, you see my point?’

‘It’s possible. But it depends when Russell Fox was shot. What time’s it light just now?’

‘About six, I think. Or just before.’

‘Okay,’ Chris said. ‘So Russell gets up, say, quarter to six. Goes up on the treetop walk to watch the sunrise. Our man – let’s say it’s Steve – he nips out of bed, up to the next floor. He’s posed the gun somewhere, opens the window and shoots Russell. Nips back downstairs into bed with Melanie. Could she really have slept through that? The creaky door? Noise from the gun?’

Clare shrugged. ‘It’s possible. No one else seems to have heard the shot.’

‘Could Melanie be lying? Maybe he slipped her a few quid to say he was there all night.’

Clare considered this. ‘On balance, I’d say not. Given Russell Fox is dead, I reckon she’d have been too scared to carry on lying for him. Particularly in the station, with the two of us sitting across the table. But let’s keep it in mind.’

They were passing the huge Amazon warehouse now and Clare’s gaze drifted to the horizon. She always loved that first glimpse of the Queensferry Crossing, its white towers standing out against the sky. It was a lovely day for a drive and good to be out of the station, especially with Tony in residence.

‘Your question to Melanie about the sports bag…’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re thinking the gun?’

Chris nodded. ‘I was, yeah. Must have got in the house somehow. And that minibus was there from eight until two in the morning.’

‘You been watching The Day of the Jackal?’ Clare said.

‘Eh?’

She shook her head. ‘Oh Chris, you’re hopeless! It’s a fabulous film. If you want to know how to smuggle a gun across a border, watch it.’ She reached into the glove compartment and took out a pair of sunglasses. ‘It’s a good point, though. The gun was either in the house already or it came in with the gunman.’

An overhead gantry loomed up flashing 30 and Chris eased off the accelerator. ‘Does Val know we’re coming?’

‘No,’ Clare said. ‘But I’ve been on to the local cops and they think she’s at home. They’re keeping an eye on the house in case she decides to go out.’

A queue of traffic lay ahead and Chris slowed the car until they were crawling along at ten miles an hour. ‘I don’t know how commuters do this journey every day,’ he said. ‘It’d drive me mad.’

‘To be fair,’ Clare said, staring out the side window, ‘you do have a head start on that.’

‘Don’t give up the day job, Inspector.’