They drove away in silence, contemplating how the landscape of Stephen’s death had shifted in the previous hour. The bipolar disorder provided a simple motive for suicide and the decision not to proceed with counselling might well have been confirmation that Stephen was still struggling.

‘Phone the pathologist when we get back to the station, Tripp,’ Callanach said. ‘She’ll need to get hold of Stephen Berry’s medical records to check the bipolar disorder and hopefully that’ll tell us what medication he was taking. And speak to the officers at the Queensferry Crossing incident. See if any of them remembers a man laughing and get a description. It’s probably nothing, but the procurator fiscal will want it covered if there’s to be an inquiry.’

Tripp’s phone rang. Callanach drove on, cursing the traffic lights as Tripp answered it.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Tripp muttered. ‘We’ll be back in quarter of an hour. Sure. I understand. Straight there.’ He ended the call.

‘What was that about?’ Callanach asked.

‘DCI Turner wants you back at the station as quickly as possible, sir. We’re not to stop anywhere, she says, and don’t talk to anyone else. Direct to her office. She sounded weird, to be honest.’

‘Weird, how?’ Callanach asked.

‘Quiet and polite. As if she were at a tea party, you know?’ Tripp said.

Or as if she’d spent too much time staring at her injuries from the previous night in the mirror and was trying to figure out why she’d taken such a massive risk, Callanach thought. Ava wasn’t in the best place right now.

Chapter Six

4 March

Ava was standing at her office window when Callanach and Tripp entered. Arms crossed, face pinched, she was as defensive as Callanach had ever seen her.

‘Thank you, DS Tripp, you can go now,’ she dismissed.

Tripp glanced at Callanach but said nothing, exiting quietly.

‘Ava, are you all right? I was worried about you,’ Callanach said, crossing the room to her, ready to give whatever support she needed.

Instead, she took a step away from him.

‘I had a call from Ailsa while you were out,’ she said.

‘Stephen Berry’s tox results?’ Callanach asked.

‘New case, actually. Her deputy performed the postmortem early this morning. What looked like a natural death turns out to have been a suffocation.’

‘Do you need me to get a squad to the scene?’ Callanach asked.

‘Scenes of Crime is already there with uniformed officers,’ Ava replied tersely. ‘They’re conducting preliminary interviews. I’m giving this one to Pax Graham.’

‘You’re putting him in charge of a murder investigation on his first day? I’m not sure he’s even up to speed with MIT procedures yet. If it’s handled wrongly, it could be fatal for the prosecution.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ Ava said. ‘Where were you when I called you to meet me at the mortuary to see Stephen Berry’s body?’

‘I told you at the time, I was at my flat. I hadn’t unpacked. I still haven’t after last night …’

‘Actually, you said you were at the gym, so I’m curious that it turns out you were at a nursing home visiting a man called Bruce Jenson.’

‘Bruce Jenson?’ Callanach paused. There was no way Ava could know anything about Jenson. They’d never discussed him or what he’d done to his mother. ‘Sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking me.’

‘Are you denying that you lied to me about the gym?’ She was breathing fast, her voice louder than the conversation warranted.

Ava was furious, Callanach realised, and it was about more than just being lied to.

‘Fine, I wasn’t at the gym. I had personal business that I didn’t want to discuss. No big deal. What’s going on, Ava?’

‘I’m not Ava right now,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘I’m DCI Turner. And once this conversation’s over, I’m going to have to make up a formal statement recording what we both said. Technically speaking, I should probably have another officer in here as a witness, but you saved my life last night, so I’m giving you this, but I won’t break procedure to any greater degree. Were you at the nursing home, yes or no?’

‘Yes,’ Callanach said.

Ava’s folded arms flopped momentarily to her sides as if defeated before she took control and landed them forcefully on her hips.

‘And you lied to me because?’

‘You needed me and I didn’t want you to think you were disturbing me,’ he said.

‘You lied to me for my own sake?’ Ava’s voice was getting louder.

‘I lied because I made the decision to get straight back on with work. I wasn’t doing anything I couldn’t walk away from. What exactly has happened that’s so …’

‘Bruce Jenson’s dead,’ Ava said abruptly, watching his face.

Callanach remained still.

‘He had advanced dementia and death was apparently inevitable, the doctor said, but not expected any time soon. He had perhaps a year, maybe more left. His doctor hadn’t seen him for a month and the nurses were happy with his condition, so they were surprised to find him deceased. In those circumstances, procedure is for there to be a postmortem and then …’

‘Wait,’ Callanach said. ‘Just … give me a moment.’

It was Callanach’s turn to walk to the window. He stared down at the rows of police cars parked below and at the brave pedestrians outside in the rain. Bruce Jenson was dead. He’d wished it on him every day since his mother had revealed the tragedy in her past, had so nearly lost his temper sufficiently to bring Jenson’s life to an end himself, and now that it had happened he felt nothing. No relief, no pleasure, no sense that justice had been done.

In a bitter twist, Jenson had left him one single, poisonous inheritance. Callanach had been left to answer for his presence in Jenson’s room just hours before the man had died. How absolutely fucking typical. Once fate had decided that you were an apt target, it was as persistent as chewing gum on the bottom of your shoe.

‘How did he die?’ Callanach asked quietly.

‘Looks as if a cushion was held over his mouth. We won’t have confirmation until the fibres in his mouth have been inspected under a microscope, but there are teeth marks against the inside of his upper lip, which suggests that pressure was applied, and there’s no other obvious causes of death. No stroke, no cardiac event.’

Clear-cut murder then, and with the same cushion he’d been holding just a little while before. The possibility that it was a coincidence seemed ridiculous and yet the cushion was the most obvious weapon in the room. One that didn’t require you to get your hands dirty and which offered a silent death.

For a second he wondered if he hadn’t, perhaps, gone further than his memory was allowing him to recall. If he hadn’t pressed the square of material and stuffing into the bastard’s face and held it there just long enough for all the oxygen in Jenson’s lungs to be depleted. He deserved it. No question about it. As far as Callanach was concerned, Jenson had deserved that and a whole lot more. But it hadn’t happened at his hand. Callanach turned to look Ava straight in the eyes.

‘I didn’t do that to him,’ he said.

‘Of course you didn’t, you bloody idiot. If I thought you did we’d be in an interview room with the tape running and I’d have handed the case over to a different team. So really, no bullshit: why did you lie to me? And what the hell were you doing there anyway?’

‘Just visiting,’ Callanach said.

‘Yeah, well unfortunately for you, when the – and I quote – really, really good-looking French policeman goes for a visit somewhere, he doesn’t exactly blend in. The nurse who allowed you access virtually gave the uniformed officers who took her statement your inner leg measurement.’

‘It was a completely innocent visit …’ he mumbled.

‘Social?’ Ava clarified.

‘Yes,’ Callanach said.

‘That’s what I assumed, only you used your police ID to gain access rather than signing the visitors’ book, so it looks like official police business. Only for the life of me, given that you’re in my command, I cannot think what case we have running that Mr Jenson is in any way involved in. Please say you can enlighten me.’

Callanach reached into his pocket and withdrew a pack of Gauloises cigarettes. Shaking one loose, he stuck it between his lips unlit, tasting France and his youth. Actually, lighting a cigarette was a line he hadn’t crossed in years, but there were times he wished he wasn’t quite so disciplined.

‘I’ve got to tell you that’s not quite the reassuring response I was hoping for,’ Ava said. ‘Oh, Luc, for God’s sake, you’re going to have to tell me everything. You were the last person save for medical staff with access to that room. Bruce Jenson has a son. He’s demanding answers and is entitled to them. At the moment, there are only a handful of people who know what’s going on, but that won’t last long. You’ll have to be formally interviewed, so if this was police business you’d better write up some notes pretty damned quickly.’

‘It wasn’t,’ he said quietly. ‘It was personal. I didn’t want to leave my name in the visitors’ book for his family to see.’

‘So you lied to me about having been there and you lied to the nurse about the nature of your visit.’

‘I guess,’ Callanach said.

‘The nurse also said that you broke a vase while you were there, that you cleaned up after yourself and put it in the bin. Will your fingerprints be on it?’

Callanach thought back. He’d put gloves on to pluck the hair from Jenson’s head, but not to clean up the broken pottery. There hadn’t been any reason to at the time.

‘There’ll be plenty of prints,’ he said. ‘It was an accident.’

‘Think very carefully about this next question. Did you touch Bruce Jenson at all? Is there any possibility that you could have left skin cells or fingerprints on any part of his body?’

Callanach sat down, recalling the way he’d taken Jenson’s chin in his hand to direct his attention towards the photograph of his parents. He nodded affirmation at Ava.

‘Anywhere near his mouth?’ Ava asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.

He nodded again.

‘Holy shit,’ Ava said. She tapped the desk and stared blankly at the wall. ‘Okay, it’s not that bad. No one’s going to believe you were involved in a murder. You just need to present your reasons for being there and explain the sequence of events. They don’t have any sort of motive for you to have hurt him and that’s the most compelling evidence in cases like this. It’s probably someone who has day-to-day contact with him.’

‘You think it was a staff member who killed him?’ Callanach asked.

‘That would normally be the first consideration,’ Ava said. ‘It’s hard work looking after dementia patients and carers have been known to break down, either from the stress of the job or from a desire to end the suffering quickly. We’ll be checking the family too, of course …’ Her voice trailed off.

‘There’s a but,’ Callanach commented.

‘Actually, the “but” is broken glass in the lower section of a patio door. Scenes of Crime think the glass was broken potentially to allow an intruder to reach up inside and unlock the door. It explains why no one apart from you or staff members was seen in the corridors during the evening. That’s extremely helpful to you. Why risk being identified by the staff and then breaking the door? It makes no sense. Either that or it’s genius deflection.’ She gave a small smile.

‘Ava …’ Callanach whispered.

There was a knock at her door.

‘Come in,’ she called brusquely.

Pax Graham entered, keys in hand. ‘Oh,’ he said, looking from Ava to Callanach. ‘Am I interrupting?’

‘Not at all,’ Ava replied, back to businesslike. ‘I was just asking Callanach about the nursing home. He was there visiting Mr Jenson. I’ve asked him to go home now and write up a full statement to give you as much information as possible. Once that’s done, you’ll have to speak with him on a formal witness basis, of course. Usual procedures will apply. Make sure you keep a team with no overlap to DI Callanach on this matter. You can have DS Lively and DC Monroe. Let me know what other resources you’ll require.’

Graham looked uncomfortable.

‘Is something wrong, Detective Inspector?’ Ava asked.

‘Not that I’m unhappy about being given the case, ma’am, but should we not send this outside MIT? If there’s any question about DI Callanach’s involvement, it might be helpful for him to have it investigated and be cleared by an impartial team.’

‘He’s right,’ Callanach said. ‘You’re going to have to suspend me for the duration of the investigation, too.’

‘You’re both overreacting,’ Ava said. ‘Callanach’s a witness, nothing more. No one’s suggesting that he was involved in the commission of an offence. There’s been no complaint filed. It’s not as if you tried to conceal your presence at the nursing home. Graham, you might have the best possible witness. I suspect it’ll turn out to be extremely fortunate that a police officer was on the premises just before the murder happened. Callanach might well have noticed something that other people would have missed.’

Graham paused. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘That sounds right. I’ll be getting on then. Luc, you’ll forgive me if I don’t chat to you very much during the investigation? I don’t want anyone suggesting there was contamination.’

‘I understand,’ Callanach replied. ‘Very sensible.’

Graham left without further conversation. Ava walked to a drawer and pulled out a bottle of whisky.

‘We shouldn’t,’ Callanach said.

‘You’re damned right we shouldn’t,’ Ava said, ‘but we’re going to. I have about a thousand questions for you and this isn’t the right time or place.’ She pushed a measure of single malt into his hand. ‘Down it.’ She ordered. ‘You look like hell, so pull yourself together before you leave this room. If you’re not guilty, you’d best stop acting guilty.’

‘I want you to suspend me,’ Callanach said, putting the empty glass down on the desk.

‘You’ve been suspended before, back at Interpol. You hadn’t done anything wrong then and look what damage it did to your career. I’ve got your back, Luc, but I need the whole truth.’

‘It’s not that simple,’ Callanach said.

‘So find a version that is,’ she replied, finishing her own drink and replacing the bottle cap. ‘Now go home. I’ve got to head off this impending hurricane with Overbeck, then I’ll join you. We’re going to go through what happened second by second, until there’s no possible space for misinterpretation. None at all.’

It was a nice idea, Callanach thought. The only problem was that the opposite was true and when Ava found out why he’d been there, even she would start to doubt his innocence. Though that wasn’t what really bothered him. He knew perfectly well he hadn’t killed Bruce Jenson. But someone had. Straight after his visit. Using a cushion he’d touched. Coming through a door he’d kicked. What he wanted to know was who and why.

Chapter Seven

4 March

It was well after 6 p.m. before Ava got away from the station and Edinburgh’s traffic wasn’t letting her go anywhere in a hurry. Fortunately, Detective Superintendent Overbeck had been out of the office all afternoon engaged in a bout of brass-kissing, so Ava wrote her a brief, bland email explaining that Callanach had been at a crime scene immediately before the event and that MIT was screening off that investigation from him. It was intellectually dishonest but technically correct, and that would have to do until Pax Graham and his team found a more appropriate suspect.

Resting her head on the steering wheel, Ava sat outside Callanach’s apartment wondering what she was doing. She’d spent the night in his arms. Waking up and extricating themselves from one another had been more than just a little awkward, but he was one of her closest friends. She’d stared down death with Callanach at her side more than once, always knowing they wouldn’t hesitate to protect one another.

But trouble followed him. It had found him at Interpol and seemed reluctant to leave his side now. He’d become the sort of partner most police officers would count as a blessing until she’d been promoted over him, and even then he’d bent the rules as needed to help her out. Whatever it took, she’d do the same for him now.

Her face was a thumping mess of pain and she suspected the wound on her leg might require a dose of antibiotics in spite of Callanach’s admirable clean-up job, but all she really wanted was paracetamol and another hot bath. Climbing the few steps to Callanach’s front door, reaching out to press the buzzer for his flat, she sighed as her mobile began to ring. Caller ID showed her DS Tripp was on the end of the line.

The day’s events had wiped her mind blank and right now, she was supposed to be at the pub celebrating two of her team’s promotions. If she took the call, she was going to have to make an excuse. She certainly couldn’t reveal where she actually was and what she was there for. God, it never rained but it dumped an entire fucking ocean on you, she thought, ending the incoming call. She’d have concocted a proper excuse by morning, and there was every chance that both Tripp and Graham’s hangovers would be painful enough that they wouldn’t be talking much anyway.

Her phone began to ring again before she’d had a chance to put the mobile back in her bag. Ava stared at it. DS Tripp was perhaps the most sensible officer on her crew and when you combined that with his good manners, there was no way he’d call twice in rapid succession simply to remind her about a few swift ones after work. She gritted her teeth and answered, hoping beyond hope that Overbeck hadn’t read her email and was demanding her presence back at the station for an update.

‘Turner,’ Ava said. ‘What’s up, Tripp?’

‘Ma’am, you’re needed at 278b Easter Road. There’s a body. I’m on my way there now. Apparently it’s a bit chaotic,’ Tripp said.

‘Okay.’ Ava was already pulling her car keys back out of her pocket. ‘Where’s DI Graham?’

‘Still at the nursing home working with Scenes of Crime, trying to figure out which other patients, medics and visitors had access to the deceased’s room. I’ve been trying to get in touch with DI Callanach but he’s not responding at the moment.’

Ava looked up at the window above her and hoped Callanach was okay. He’d had a bad day and as someone who’d been accused of misconduct before, she wasn’t sure how well he was going to handle a second incident.

‘I’ll find him,’ Ava said. ‘We’ll both be there shortly.’

Finally, she got to press the buzzer. Callanach’s answer was simply to allow her access. He was standing holding his flat door open by the time she got to the top of the stairs.

‘I’ve made food,’ he said. ‘I assume you haven’t eaten anything since leaving here this morning.’

‘Will it keep? We’re wanted at Easter Road. You can drive. My leg hurts like hell.’

‘Are you kidding? I can’t go. DI Graham was right. You have to suspend me, Ava. If Overbeck decides you broke protocol this could turn out worse for you than for me, and I don’t want to be responsible for that.’

‘Have you written up your statement as I asked?’ Ava demanded.

‘Yes, of course, but there are circumstances …’

‘And have you taken part in any criminal activity or conspired to commit any crime in relation either to the crime scene or the victim?’ she continued.

‘Ava, you know I haven’t …’

‘Good. Then suspending you is simply going to create endless gossip and speculation. It’ll go on your record and, frankly, I don’t want to be without my most experienced DI at the moment. Now, someone’s dead and we have a job to do, so let’s go. Also, do you have any more paracetamol?’ she added, softening her tone.

Callanach smiled at her. ‘Sure,’ he said, disappearing off in the direction of his kitchen and reappearing with pills and a bottle of water.

They made it in under ten minutes, leaving the car down the road, one side of which had been blocked off as a tent was erected to give some privacy at street level. Easter Road led out of the city towards Leith. The area was suffering a sad decline, and the three-storey housing featured sheets hung in place of curtains and window frames that had lost more paint than remained on them. The flat in question was on the second floor with a shared entrance hall.

Ava and Callanach donned white suits, shoe covers, gloves and hats, and prepared to enter. A sulphuric, metallic smell gave the situation away from the first-floor landing. The body had been there a while. The weather was so cold that unless the flat had been heated to an extreme, the smell would have taken a while to get so strong.

Ailsa Lambert appeared at the front door of the flat, talking brusquely to a member of her team and handing over a camera.

‘You ready for us to come in and take a look?’ Ava asked her.

‘Go ahead,’ Ailsa replied shortly.

Ava and Callanach shared a brief look. If Ailsa was out of sorts, then whatever was waiting for them had to be bad.

The bathroom was tiny and the forensics team cleared out to allow them access. Ava stood with her back against the window and Callanach spread his legs either side of the toilet so they could both look down into the bath. Tripp appeared in the doorway as they were taking stock.

‘Who reported it?’ Ava asked him.

‘A neighbour,’ Tripp replied. ‘The smell had been getting worse over two weeks, so he finally called the police.’

‘Two weeks?’ Ava hissed. ‘Are you kidding?’

‘Afraid not. I suspect the neighbour might be selling some weed on an informal scale judging by the smell of his own apartment and the fact that while I was talking to him, his mobile rang repeatedly. He’d obviously just cleaned off every surface in his flat but neglected to cover up the scales on the floor in the corner.’

‘So he didn’t want the police in here until it got to the stage where the stench was actually affecting his clientele, is that it?’

‘Something like that, ma’am,’ Tripp replied. ‘The pathologist confirmed the body’s been here at least two weeks, more likely three. Judging by the photos on the walls, I’d say the deceased is the owner and resident, a Mrs Hawksmith.’

As one, they all looked down at the woman’s body. Mrs Hawksmith was past middle age but not yet old. Each of her ankles was bound by a cable tie to a tap pipe, below the handle, at the end of the bath, leaving her legs splayed open, slightly bent, and flopped against the sides. Her wrists were bound with handcuffs over her stomach. A deep wound – Ava estimated three inches long – ran across the inner bend of her left elbow with another, shorter one, on the same wrist. Her head lolled against the side nearest them, eyes open, mouth agape, as if she were appealing for help.

The corpse was bloated, limbs swollen and hard, a dark red colour with brown patches. The putrefaction gases were appalling, even though the doors had been open for some time. She was a large woman but not obese. Her tattoos were visible but not clear through the discolouration of her skin and there were no other obvious wounds. The goriest of tidemarks was a muddy-crimson line around the rim of the tub and the plug remained in place.

‘The bath was full when she bled out,’ Ava said. ‘The water must have leaked out slowly in the days that followed. Has anyone found the key to the handcuffs?’ she asked Tripp, leaning over to take a closer look at the cuffs.

They weren’t police or military issue, nor were they the joke shop sort with the button that could be pressed to spring them open. A key had to be fitted into a central slot to release the wearer, which would have been possible if the key was within grabbing distance.

‘No key as yet,’ Tripp said. ‘You can get those sort of cuffs online or in sex shops. They’re bondage-type regalia. Maybe she was tomming.’

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