Her last lap was the steep path that led up the hill to the university. As Rhona emerged from the trees, the wind caught her again, propelling her into the famous cloisters, where it now proceeded to batter her from various directions until she escaped into a quiet, sheltered, grassy quadrant where all was still.

Reaching her lab, she found Chrissy already there.

‘My God. What. A. Night,’ Chrissy said, waving a welcome breakfast bag at Rhona. ‘Let’s get the coffee on and we can share experiences.’

Minutes later, they were tucking into black pudding rolls and coffee, with Chrissy weaving her tale of lying alongside her young son, wee Michael, to protect him, in case the wind blew their roof off.

‘Mum had me up to high doh, telling me all about the great storm of sixty-eight when chimney pots crashed through the tenement roofs killing folk in their beds.’ She made an ‘oooh’ face. ‘I pointed out that I didn’t live in a tenement, but she reminded me that you do.’

‘The same thought did cross my mind, especially after the weather forecaster reminded us about that storm,’ Rhona said. ‘Was wee Michael frightened?’

‘He slept right through it, unlike his mother.’ Chrissy pulled a face. ‘I never used to be frightened of, well, anything. See what becoming a mum does to you?’

At that point Rhona’s mobile rang. Noting DI Wilson’s name on the screen, she set it to loudspeaker.

‘Morning, Bill. You survived the storm, I take it?’

‘Spent most of the night waiting for the roof to take off. It didn’t, although some of the guttering came down. Hope I haven’t disturbed your breakfast?’

‘We’re almost done,’ Rhona said, although Chrissy was just about to take a big bite out of her second black pudding roll.

‘Good, because I need you both down at—’ He gave them an address in Govan. ‘A possible self-immolation in the early hours, helped on by the wind. D’you need a lift?’

‘We’ll bring the forensic van,’ Rhona said. ‘See you shortly.’

‘Self-immolation,’ repeated Chrissy, looking thoughtfully at her roll.

Perhaps with the news of their impending task, a well-fired black pudding roll no longer seemed so appetizing, Rhona thought.

She was wrong, of course.

‘Let’s get going,’ Chrissy said as she popped the roll back in its paper bag. ‘I’ll finish this on the way.’

The locus was sheltered in part by the surrounding tenements. Despite this, the wind, though lessened, still swirled in gusts. Rhona stood for a moment taking in the location. The ground was dry. She recalled that the rain had ceased to beat at her bedroom window around midnight and the major sound after that had been the howling of the wind.

Checking the forecast this morning, she’d seen the rain would return probably by lunchtime, when hopefully the SOCOs would have combed the locus.