McNab had risen before his alarm went off. Not because he’d wanted to, but because his mobile had refused to be ignored. The boss had made no apologies regarding the early morning call. DI Wilson had just told him where to go and that his partner, DS Clark, would be outside his building in fifteen minutes.

Sniffing his oxters, he’d decided a shower would be required, despite the scarcity of time afforded him. Sadly, breakfast wasn’t on the cards (mainly because the fridge was empty), although strong coffee was a possibility.

Hurrying down the stairs, he’d emerged onto a street that looked like a football horde had stampeded down it, along with a wind that he could only describe as penetrating.

Hence he was waiting, freshly bathed with coffee consumed, when Janice drew up alongside him.

‘You survived the storm, I see?’ Janice said as he climbed into the car.

McNab adopted a blank look.

‘You slept through it!’

‘I’m a sound sleeper. Was it bad then?’ he said, feigning innocence.

Janice gave a grunt that signified she wasn’t interested in pandering to McNab’s attempts at humour, then said, ‘You know where we’re headed?’

‘Govan. Somebody set themselves on fire in the back court.’

Janice had shot him a look at that point. ‘I take it you’re okay with the smell of burnt flesh in the morning?’

‘I would be if I’d eaten,’ McNab tried. ‘On an empty stomach, maybe not so much.’

‘Tough luck, then,’ she retorted. ‘We’re not stopping.’

McNab was almost glad of that when they eventually exited the vehicle outside the required address to be greeted by that exact smell.

‘It’s a lot worse, I hear, where Dr MacLeod’s working,’ Janice informed him.

‘Rhona’s here too?’ McNab said. ‘Do they suspect it wasn’t a suicide?’

‘Maybe they’re hoping she’ll decide that,’ Janice said in her inimitable fashion, chapping on a ground-floor door. ‘We’re to speak with the guy who called it in. A Mr Jimmy Donaldson.’

The knock was followed by an extended silence. McNab was about to knock again when they heard shuffling footsteps, before a voice called out, ‘Who is it?’

McNab held his warrant card in front of the spyhole. ‘Detective Sergeant McNab and Detective Sergeant Clark. We’d like to talk to you about the fire, Mr Donaldson.’ After which they heard numerous locks and bolts being released.

The door was slowly opened to finally allow them a view of Jimmy Donaldson. He was short, thin and elderly, although still sporting a full head of grey hair, tinged with ginger.

‘Aye, come away in then, detectives.’

They followed him through a long narrow hall and into a room that looked out on the back court. Sitting on the window ledge was a big black cat, which immediately arched its back and hissed at them.

‘Shoo, Lucifer!’