‘Silver lining, in a way,’ John was droning on, hardly aware of her presence in the room. ‘Something like this, it binds them all to Balfour’s, makes it harder for them to make a move elsewhere …’

Jacqueline rose shakily to her feet.

‘We’re burying our daughter, John! This isn’t about your bloody business! Flip’s not part of some … commercial transaction!’

Balfour glanced towards the door, making sure it was closed. ‘Keep your voice down, woman. It was only a … I didn’t mean …’ He slumped on to the sofa suddenly, face in his hands. ‘You’re right, I wasn’t thinking … God help me.’

His wife sat down next to him, took his hands and lowered them from his face. ‘God help both of us, John,’ she said.

Steve Holly had managed to persuade his boss at the paper’s Glasgow HQ that he needed to be on the scene as early as possible. He’d also, knowing the geographical illiteracy rampant in Scotland, managed to persuade him that Falls was a lot further away from Edinburgh than was actually the case, and that Greywalls Hotel would make an ideal overnight stop. He hadn’t bothered explaining that Greywalls was in Gullane, and consequently wasn’t much more than a half-hour’s drive from Edinburgh, or that Gullane, as the crow flew, wasn’t exactly between Falls and Edinburgh. But what did it matter? He’d had his overnighter, joined by his girlfriend Gina, who wasn’t really his girlfriend but just someone he’d dated a few times over the previous three months. Gina had been keen, but had worried about getting to work the next morning, so then Steve had fixed a taxi for her. He knew how he’d wing it, too: he’d say his car broke down and he’d used the taxi himself to get back to town …

After a fabulous dinner and a walk around the garden – designed by someone called Jekyll apparently – Steve and Gina had made ample use of their ample bed before sleeping like logs, so that the first they knew of it, Gina’s cab was waiting and Steve had to tuck into breakfast alone, which would have been his preference anyway. But then the first disappointment: the newspapers … all of them broadsheets. He’d stopped in Gullane and bought the competition on his way out to Falls, leaving them on the passenger seat and flicking through them as he drove, cars flashing and tooting at him as he took more than his share of road.