‘Till next time,’ he said, turning away. One of the women glanced up at him as he passed, and he managed a wink of his own.

When he got back to the Complaints office, Naysmith told him there was a message waiting.

‘And would I find it on my desk or under it?’ Fox asked. But there it was, lying next to his telephone. Just a name and number. He looked at it, then up at Naysmith. ‘Alison Pettifer?’

Naysmith just shrugged, so Fox lifted the receiver and punched the number in. When it was answered, he identified himself as Inspector Fox.

‘Oh, right,’ the woman on the other end said. She sounded hesitant.

‘You called me,’ Fox persisted.

‘You’re Jude’s brother?’

Fox was silent for a moment. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I live next door,’ the woman stumbled on. ‘She happened to mention once that you were in the police. That’s how I got your number…’

‘What’s happened?’ Fox repeated, aware that both Naysmith and Kaye were now listening.

‘Jude’s had a bit of an accident…’

She tried to close the door in his face, but he pushed against it and her resistance evaporated. Instead, she marched back into her living room. It was a mid-terraced house in Saughtonhall. He didn’t know which side Alison Pettifer lived – neither set of net curtains had twitched. Each and every house on the street boasted a satellite dish, and Jude’s TV was tuned to some daytime chat-and-cookery show. She turned it off as he walked into the room.

‘Well now,’ was all he said. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. There was some faint bruising on her left cheek, and her left arm was in plaster, a sling cradling it. ‘Those stairs again?’