‘Aye. I grew up in one.’

‘Well, nobody says that about Gallowhaugh. It was always rough as a crab’s arse. Apache territory for decades.’

Laura had programmed the address into her sat nav, but there was no need for precision navigation to isolate the locus. Never mind GPS systems, there was so much illumination around the spot that it was probably visible to the naked eye from space. The place was lit up like Blackpool, the oscillations of blue lights on the tops of police cars sparkling amidst the white glow of portable floods. The crappy wee sixties-built parade of shops must never have looked so interesting, especially from the rear, where the action appeared to be. The floodlights were set up in a lane running parallel to the parade, backing on to a quadrant of converted garages that constituted the light industrial estate Laura had referred to.

The lane was wide enough for a single vehicle, even if, as was probable, that single vehicle happened to be a bin lorry. A brick wall separated it from the industrial units, while to the south, on the Shawburn Road side, the shops’ back doors opened directly on to the thoroughfare. It ran roughly east–west for a hundred and fifty yards, exits either end, no direct access to the converted garages unless you had a ladder.

Laura parked across the road from the Capletburn Drive end of the lane, having carefully steered her vehicle around the two squad cars that were blocking access from the main road through Gallowhaugh. There were two uniformed officers further securing the entrance, albeit crowd control was not going to be a problem up a back alley in the early hours of the morning. There was one male and one female officer. The latter was just a young girl, not long in the job. She was trying to look professional and composed, and earning pass marks from Catherine, who was sharp enough to recognise the tear-streaks on her face. She’d been there herself, once upon a time. You learned to put on your game face, especially as a female officer, hiding your true responses, scared that people would think you couldn’t handle it. Then after a while, you no longer felt a response worth hiding, and you realised that what you should have been scared of was discovering just how much you could handle.

‘First cold one?’ Catherine asked her, offering an inviting smile.

She responded with a shy nod.

‘Not exactly vanilla,’ her older colleague added by way of support and explanation. ‘She’s doing fine. I’m PC Jim Keeney, by the way. My colleague’s PC Jacqui Malone.’

‘I’m Detective Superintendent McLeod. This is DI Geddes. Men in white here yet?’

‘Ten minutes ahead of you,’ Keeney reported.

‘Who is it? Cal O’Shea?’

‘Couldn’t tell you, ma’am.’

‘Short guy, looks a bit like a corpse?’

‘I’d really rather not—’

‘Was he eating?’