At the edge of the crowd, Ava Turner had halted, studying the various people who were walking away. He considered approaching her gently to see if he could help, then decided against it. Ava knew what she was doing and she wouldn’t be there without backup. He left her alone, returning to his car within view of the building’s main exit, from where the roof was only partially visible and was thus crowd-free.

Sitting in his car, on the street, he took the time to contemplate life. He’d be lying if he denied having moments when life had seemed to be made almost entirely of pain. When his son had a concussion that left him unconscious for long enough to be concerned about the state he’d be in when he woke up. When his wife had left him. Having to watch his mother – the least complaining, most jovial woman he’d ever met – die slowly of a cancer that had no purpose, nothing to gain from her, but which took her just because it could. But he’d never been close to suicide. The thought of it left him bereft. Unless you’d been there, it was inconceivable.

He hadn’t really thought about the scale of the problem until he’d helped Callanach to find Fenella Hawksmith’s daughter. That poor woman had a history of suicide attempts, too. Then there was the lad who’d tried to jump from the Queensferry Crossing only a month earlier.

Lance’s head began to ache. He opened the car window to let in some fresh air. Luc had said that Fenella Hawksmith’s body had been in her flat for about three weeks. Then Stephen Berry had died out at Tantallon Castle. Not long after that the poor Japanese lad had been murdered. Only hadn’t his wife, that piece of work with the boyfriend affectionately named after a form of protein, said something about him being suicidal, too? Osaki Shozo, that was it. The old grey matter was still just about functioning.

A man wearing jeans made smarter by the addition of a striped shirt and an official-looking lanyard walked out of the building, accompanied by paramedics, police officers, and a dark-haired woman in leggings and a tatty coat. The latter looked absolutely exhausted. No doubt he was seeing the thankfully uninjured person whose pain had been so publicly aired. The more professionally attired male gave the potential jumper a brief hug, then paramedics walked her slowly to the back of a waiting ambulance.