Grange Road was one of the quieter routes out of St Andrews, the residential streets soon giving way to fields on one side and trees on the other. A few miles further on Clare saw a line of cars parked along the verge. She recognised a couple of reporters, leaning against a field gate chatting, others still in their cars. She wondered about that. The victim’s name hadn’t rung a bell with her but he must have been a pretty high profile businessman to attract this amount of attention. A uniformed officer stood at a wide gate, opposite the press pack. The DCI indicated to pull in and the officer stepped forward, his hand raised. When he recognised Clare he waved them in and the DCI turned onto a gravel drive hooded by tall trees on either side. Clare felt the familiar nerves in her stomach as she wondered what awaited her.

Suddenly the drive cleared and she had her first view of Lamond Lodge through a barrier of Heras fencing. The starkness of the grey metal fence was somehow at odds with the opulence of the house beyond and she wondered why it was there. A pair of CCTV cameras covered a gap in the fence and she hoped they’d been switched on. It might just help them find the culprit – if the gunman had come from outside the grounds.

Again, an officer stepped out to intercept them then recognised Clare and stood back to allow them through the gap. The drive curved round towards the house which Clare thought was Edwardian. Or possibly Victorian. It was a three-storey dwelling in honey-coloured stone with two prominent bays either side of the entrance. The third storey was built into the eaves of a steep roof with dormer windows to the front. The roof was flanked at both ends by substantial chimney stacks with six – or was it eight – pots on each. It was clearly a sizeable property. A white painted sign to the side pointed left towards a treetop walk and Clare saw that SOCO’s investigations were concentrated in this direction.

The DCI pulled his car into the side and Clare jumped out, not waiting for him to kill the engine. She stood for a minute, taking in the scene until her eyes found Chris, her DS, and she walked smartly towards him.

He looked up at the sound of her feet on the gravel and his face fell. ‘Clare,’ he said. ‘Look, I’m sorry about…’

‘Forget it, Chris. I’d have been more annoyed if you hadn’t let me know.’

Chris shot a glance at DCI Gibson who was heading their way. ‘DCI feel the same, does he?’

Clare ignored this. ‘So, tell me.’

‘Male, aged forty. Single gunshot wound to the head. Probably killed outright but we’ll need the post-mortem to confirm that.’

‘From Glasgow, you said?’