Ava returned to her car and stared at herself in the rear-view mirror. What the hell was happening? First, she took an insane risk out at Tantallon Castle, then she spent two nights in Callanach’s bed, now she was giving out signals that had men she’d only just met handing out their mobile number to her. All when she was looking like she’d recently escaped an abusive relationship. Then there was the weird conversation with Selina at the hospital.

Perhaps it was an age thing and everyone around her was simply assuming it was now or never for settling down. Her track record with men showed a startling lack of good judgement. Most of the relationships she’d been in were either to please her mother or to reassure herself that she wasn’t entirely married to her job. Ava sighed. Now wasn’t the right time to be navel-gazing. A call to her best friend, Natasha, later on would sort out any personal issues, through the inevitable response of some high-grade piss-taking. Right now, she was late for Ailsa and that just wouldn’t do.

The city mortuary was busy. Ava kept her head down and quietly made her way round the back of the group of three families who were there to see their loved ones. A drunken helium-inhaling session had left Edinburgh with teenagers to mourn. Every time she saw parents crying for their children, she was glad she’d gone down a different path than parenting. The fear it brought was terrifying.

Dr Ailsa Lambert waved her into the postmortem suite, the dark shadows under her eyes reflective of too little sleep and too many deaths. Edinburgh was unarguably one of the most beautiful cities in the world, but it saw its share of tragedies.

‘Were you here all night?’ Ava asked.

‘Not by choice. Do people really need floaty balloons so badly that it’s worth giving the general public access to pressurised helium canisters and the temptation of making funny voices? There was no need for a single one of those young people to die last night. It’s not just a tragedy, it’s an avoidable waste of human life.’ Ailsa slammed a pen down onto a metal counter and composed herself.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ava said. ‘I don’t know how you cope with the pain of what you see day after day.’

‘Someone has to,’ Ailsa said. ‘Now, Mrs Hawksmith. First name, Fenella, I’ve been notified. A friend of hers came in and identified her body this morning after seeing the police at her flat yesterday.’ She pulled the sheet back from the body. ‘I had to do a limited reveal. Didn’t want to give the poor woman nightmares, but she was able to describe two tattoos in detail, as well as height, weight and eye colour. We’re double-checking her fingerprints against the database following a drink-drive conviction some years ago.’