‘Thank you,’ he would say, usually his first and last words of the encounter.

HR was on the ground floor of Police HQ. Lothian and Borders was not the largest force in Scotland, and Fox often wondered how they filled their time. They were civilian staff – most of them women. They stared at him from above their computer screens. One might wink or blow him a kiss. He knew some of their faces from the canteen. But there was never any conversation, no offer of coffee or tea – Mrs Stephens saw to that.

Fox made sure no one was watching as he lifted Jamie Breck’s file from the cabinet. He held it to his chest so the name couldn’t be seen, locked the drawer and headed back to Mrs Stephens’ office. Closed the door after him and sat down. The chair was still warm, which he minded only a little. Inside the slim file were the details of Breck’s police career, along with earlier academic attainments. He was twenty-seven and had joined the force six years previously, spending the first two in training and in uniform, before transferring to CID. His assessments were favourable, bordering on glowing. There was no mention of any of the cases he’d worked on, but also no indication of trouble or disciplinary concerns. ‘A model officer’ was one remark, repeated a little later on. One thing Fox did learn was that Breck lived in the same part of town as him. His address was on the new estate close by the Morrisons supermarket. Fox had driven around the estate when it had first been built, wondering if he needed a bigger house.

‘Small world,’ he muttered to himself now.

The computer data added little. There had been the occasional sick day, but nothing stress-related.