‘Cheers. And thanks for the invite.’

‘We don’t normally do Sunday lunch.’ Her eyes widened a little. ‘You’re not vegetarian, are you?’

‘Perish the thought.’

‘I’ve got pork and apple sauce. Plus a burger for Duncan.’

‘He won’t eat pork?’

‘He’d pick at it.’ She took a mouthful of wine and exhaled. ‘That’s better.’ She smiled at him. ‘Not that I need it, you understand.’

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

‘Did you hear about Gilchrist?’

Fox nodded. ‘I was going to ask if you knew.’

‘I don’t know what it is the Complaints have got that CEOP hasn’t.’

‘It’s only temporary, though.’

‘He was quick enough to accept.’

‘You think they should have offered it to you?’

‘I’d have turned it down,’ she said quickly. ‘And not just because it’s your job we’re talking about.’ She trained her eyes on him. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m fine. You know that sign on the CEOP door, the one that says two people have to be present when you look at anything…?’

‘Working solo is going to present problems,’ she agreed.

‘I don’t know how you can do the job you do,’ he stated with a slow shake of the head.

‘The secret is, you never focus on what’s happening in the photo – you look for the clues in the background, anything that can identify where the abuse took place…’

‘But it must get to you – you’ve got a kid of your own.’

‘We limit our time on the computer to a couple of hours a day, plus three times a year we get counselling – mandatory counselling. When I come home, the office doesn’t come with me.’

‘It still sounds tough.’

‘It’s a job,’ she said, taking another gulp of wine. Then: ‘What about you, Malcolm? What’s going to happen?’

He shrugged and lifted his own drink to his mouth. ‘What are you going to do about Breck?’

‘What can I do?’

‘Can you at least talk about it?’

She shook her head.

‘Why not?’ When she just stared at him, he lifted his hands in a show of surrender.

‘I’ll check on the meat,’ she said, getting back to her feet. She was wearing tight black cords and a cream-coloured woollen sweater. Fox couldn’t help enjoying his view of her as she left the room.

Lunch itself was fine. Duncan said almost nothing, hiding behind his curtain of hair. The pork was tender, and accompanied by mountains of veg, Duncan partaking of two boiled potatoes and one roast to accompany his burger. There was trifle for dessert, which the teenager asked if he could take to his room. After a theatrical sigh, his mother relented. With dessert finished, Fox helped her clear the table. The kitchen was a mess, but she insisted she’d clean up later – ‘Duncan will help, trust me.’ So they settled back on the sofa with coffee and little cubes of home-made tablet. She’d put his flowers in a vase of water.

‘You’ve been married, right?’ she asked.

‘Right.’

‘No kids, though?’

‘We weren’t together long enough.’

‘What happened?’

‘We hooked up for all the wrong reasons.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’m not about to bore you with the details.’ He crossed one leg over the other. ‘How does Duncan feel about your job?’

‘He knows not to ask questions.’

‘Fair enough, but he knows what you do, and he has to tell his mates something…’

‘We’ve never talked about it much.’ She tucked her legs beneath her, having kicked off her shoes. Fox could hear some sort of brass instrument being practised nearby.

‘Is that Duncan?’

She shook her head. ‘One of the kids downstairs. Tuba, his mum tells me. And there’s a drummer through that wall.’ She nodded in the direction of the shelving unit.

‘How about Duncan?’

‘An electric guitar for his birthday last year, but he won’t take lessons.’

‘I was like that when my parents bought me a set of golf clubs – reckoned I’d teach myself.’

‘Teenage boys can be stubborn. Are your parents still alive?’

‘My dad is.’

‘And how’s your sister doing? There’ll be the funeral to plan, I suppose.’

‘Might take a while for them to release the body.’

‘And there’s still no news?’ It was his turn to shake his head. ‘So you started making your own enquiries…’

‘As a result of which, I get a nice paid holiday.’

‘Are you thinking of going somewhere?’

‘I might just stay close to home.’ He paused. ‘Is there any point in me asking Gilchrist a few questions?’

She looked at him. ‘I wouldn’t think so, Malcolm. You do understand what the word “suspension” means?’

‘Of course.’

A smile spread across her face. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a rebel.’

‘That’s because I wear braces with my suit.’

Now she laughed. ‘Maybe.’

Duncan stuck his head around the door. ‘I’m just going out.’ ‘Where?’ his mother asked.

‘Princes Street.’

‘Meeting up with anyone?’ He shrugged. ‘Okay, then. Say goodbye to Malcolm.’

‘Bye,’ Duncan said. ‘Thanks again for the…’

‘Maybe see you again,’ Fox replied. He sat in silence with Inglis until the front door had closed.

‘I thought he was going to help you in the kitchen,’ Fox said.

‘He’ll do it when he comes back.’

‘Must be hard.’ Fox paused. ‘Not having his dad around, I mean. Do your parents still help out?’

‘We see them some weekends.’

‘Are they still in Fife?’

She gave him a look. ‘I never told you I grew up in Fife.’

‘You must have.’

But she was shaking her head slowly, never taking her eyes off him. ‘You saw it in my file, didn’t you?’

‘I like you, Annie…’

‘So you had a trawl through my personnel file. Find out anything interesting, Inspector?’

‘Only that you never bothered to mention Duncan.’

Her voice was steely. ‘I didn’t want anyone seeing me as a single parent first, and a cop second.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘I can’t believe you checked up on me!’

‘It’s what I do.’ He paused. ‘What I used to do,’ he corrected himself.

‘It was still out of order, Malcolm.’

He was trying to shape an explanation, but Annie Inglis had risen to her feet.

‘Time for you to leave, I think.’

‘Annie, I just wanted to know a little more about you…’

‘Thanks again for the wine and the flowers and…’ She looked about her, avoiding eye contact, then turned towards the door. ‘I need to get started in the kitchen.’

He watched her go. He was standing by this time, still holding his coffee cup. He placed it on the table and put his jacket back on. She had closed the kitchen door. He could hear her moving stuff around. His fingers brushed the door handle, without enough force to open it. He stayed there a further minute, willing her to come out. But she had switched the radio on. Classic FM: same station he sometimes listened to.

Out of order, Malcolm…

He could open the door and apologise. But instead, he padded down the hall and let himself out. On the pavement outside, he craned his neck. There was no one watching from the bay window, or from the next window along. The car next to Fox’s was being washed by its owner.

‘Nice day, for a change,’ the man said. Fox drove away without responding. He was halfway home when his phone rang. He answered it, hoping to hear Annie’s voice. But it was Tony Kaye.

‘What do you want?’ Fox asked.

‘You were the one who told me to ring,’ Kaye complained. ‘And it went okay, thanks for asking.’

Fox remembered then: Torphichen. ‘Sorry, Tony. I was lost for a minute there.’

‘Bad Billy wants me in the frame for Faulkner’s demise – he wants it a lot, but he knows it’s not going to happen, and that’s driving him nuts.’

‘Good,’ Fox said.

‘Other scenario he’s got is you thumping Faulkner and me acting the messenger. He said maybe it wasn’t my idea, or even yours – maybe Jude got you to do it.’ Kaye paused. ‘She didn’t, did she?’

‘Look, Tony, I’ve just had lunch round at Annie Inglis’s flat.’