‘She’s going on a date with Dr Walker,’ Chrissy immediately told him.

‘It is not a date,’ Rhona said. ‘It’s work.’

‘Nice work if you can get it,’ Chrissy said, before turning to McNab. ‘And I know why you’re here.’

‘The spy network you have in the station is legendary,’ McNab admitted. ‘So does your boss know?’ He indicated Rhona.

Chrissy shook her head. ‘I preferred to wait and watch you tell her.’

‘Tell me what?’ Rhona now demanded.

‘Emma Watson,’ McNab said, ‘came with her mother, Claire, to the station today.’

At the mention of Emma’s name, a flurry of memories swept over Rhona. The first of which was the image of a little girl in a winter wood, frightened, yet determined to help them in their search for the body of a missing child.

‘How is she?’ was her first response. ‘She must be . . .’

‘Almost a teenager,’ McNab said. ‘Taller, but just as intense.’ He halted, perhaps looking for the right words to explain the visit.

Rhona was already ahead of him. ‘She came to speak to you about the body on the moors?’

McNab nodded. ‘She wants—’

‘To check that there isn’t another body buried there,’ Rhona finished for him.

‘How weird is that?’ Chrissy, big-eyed, came in. ‘It’s just what we were thinking.’

‘You have a reason to suspect there might be—’ McNab began.

‘Emma was right once before, remember?’ Rhona said.

McNab’s sudden attention to his pint suggested he didn’t want to acknowledge that fact.

‘Cool,’ Chrissy said. ‘Rhona can take her up there. That’s what you wanted to ask, wasn’t it?’ She looked pointedly at McNab.

‘The boss thinks it’s okay,’ he offered cautiously.

‘Then we’ll take her there before the strategy meeting.’ Rhona finished her wine and stood up.

‘So that’s you off on your date?’ Chrissy said.

‘See you tomorrow,’ Rhona said, lifting her bag and making for the stairs, but not before she’d caught McNab’s voice saying, ‘Does Sean Maguire know about this?’

Rhona didn’t hang around long enough to hear Chrissy’s reply, just said a silent thank you that she hadn’t agreed to meet Richie in the jazz club, even though he’d suggested it.

The bustle of Ashton Lane enveloped her. Puddles from an earlier shower, patchworked by the strings of coloured lights, glistened between the cobbles. She headed up University Avenue towards the towers of the university. The sky above the city was a metallic blue broken by bloodied streaks. She felt a sudden surge of pleasure to be back at work and back in Glasgow.

And Skye will always be there when I need it, she told herself.

She’d reached the main gate where Stan, who Rhona was well acquainted with, was manning the entry post.

‘Evening, Dr MacLeod,’ he said with a smile. ‘Looking forward to a nice dinner and some speeches?’

Rhona was about to answer Stan’s query, although in what manner she wasn’t sure, when a tall figure stepped out of the shadows behind him.