Jasmine could see Bain watching them through his living-room window as they walked silently towards the Civic, perhaps reassuring himself that they were leaving. It looked like he was on the phone. She wondered which side of the law he was calling, and understood that they’d better get moving or they’d soon be finding out.

She set her phone back to its normal profile, from silent, and as she did so she noticed that she had a voicemail message. She retrieved it as she walked around to the driver’s side and got into the car. It was a call for Jim, relayed from the office phone. She felt a rising in her chest as she heard the words ‘This is a message for Jim Sharp’ preface the recording, but her pulse fell again as it turned out to be from Scottish Gas, something about a heat-loss survey. Jim must have been getting loft insulation or maybe a new boiler. Jasmine could feel herself threatening to choke up, like when she took calls from Mum’s old friends who hadn’t heard, or when mail arrived for her. For some reason, a magazine subscription had been the worst, because it spoke to something Mum had enjoyed, the life she ought still to be living.

Neither of them said anything as she started the engine and pulled away. Ingrams didn’t enquire after the phone message and seemed reluctant even to aim any looks her way. It was hard to imagine anyone ever describing her passenger as vulnerable, particularly given what she had just learned and witnessed, but she definitely got the impression that his defences were down. There was something contrite and regretful about him, his face bearing very little resemblance to the snarling demon who had just menaced Bain.

She had seldom been comfortable in his presence since they met, but for the first time it seemed like he was uncomfortable in hers. Jasmine wasn’t having it, though. It was a small car, with no room between the front seats for an elephant.

‘So I take it we can drop the pretence that you are anyone other than Glen Fallan?’ she asked.

He still didn’t speak for a while, long enough for her to think he was either in the huff or genuinely wounded about this.

‘I used to be,’ he eventually replied, his voice low and distant, like he had dragged the words up from somewhere very deep inside. He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.

‘Did Jim know the truth about you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Shit,’ she said, gripping the steering wheel tighter as an outlet for her temper. ‘And you never said a thing.’

‘He hadn’t been in touch. I wasn’t lying when I said I hadn’t heard from him since last year.’

‘Why was he looking for you before?’

‘I can’t tell you. I’d be breaching Jim’s client confidentiality.’