The youth shook his head. The minicab drivers were waving goodbye to him through the window as they returned to their vehicles. “You’ll have to ask my boss,” he told Fox, waving back.

“We’ll do that, then. Did you ever see Mr. Saunders yourself?”

The youth shook his head again.

“You always work the same shift?”

“No, but I’ve been on nights for a few weeks.”

“He never came in during that time?”

“Don’t remember him.”

Fox nodded slowly. The payphone was on the wall next to the toilet. The sign warning that it was out of order comprised a pink Post-it note—easy to miss until you got close.

“Anything else?” the youth asked Clarke.

“Just this,” she said, placing a Bounty on the counter.

“And your boss’s phone number,” Fox added, as the youth got busy with the scanner. “The one kept for emergencies—we need to contact him tonight…”

Outside, as she unwrapped the chocolate bar, Clarke told Fox it could probably wait till morning. He nodded his agreement, and drove them back to Wester Hailes so she could pick up her own car. The car park was near empty. The team would have clocked off. Overtime was available, but Clarke was running out of things for them to do outwith normal office hours. She looked tired, while Fox felt energized.

“See you in the morning,” he said, as Clarke opened her door and undid her seat belt.

“That was useful tonight, Malcolm. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he assured her with a smile.

He drove fully quarter of a mile in the direction of home before pulling over to the curb again, taking out his phone and searching his pockets for the scrap of paper the youth at the petrol station had given him.

Forbes and Jessica had been out all day, Jessica managing with the aid of a walking stick. They’d taken taxis, and avoided stairs and steps wherever possible. She’d felt the need for fresh air, for reminders that a city existed beyond the confines of her flat. A café, a restaurant, a park bench and a bar—and now they were back in Great King Street, climbing slowly but purposefully towards the sound of scrubbing and sobs.

It was Alice, on her knees on the landing, a bucket of soapy water by her side. She was using a brush on the door, trying to get the red paint off. Tears had dried on her cheeks. There were splashes of paint on the wall, and it looked as though she had already sluiced the stone floor.

“What the hell?” Forbes said.

“It was like this when I got here,” Alice explained breathlessly. “Your mum and her friends…all that online hate…”

Jessica was gesturing for Forbes to help Alice get to her feet.

“You think that’s who did this?” she asked.

Alice stared at her flatmate. “Who else?”