‘You assume it’s a man.’

‘Well . . . you’re right, I’m making an assumption. But it’s a fair guess. As far as the homeless are concerned, men make up 93.3 per cent of our service users.’ He shrugged. ‘We keep records. And we see the proof with our own eyes. They are almost always men.’

‘Fair enough. And yes, it is a man. We’re hoping you can help us identify him.’

Colvin looked slightly pained, his pin-up features crumpling apologetically. ‘I’ll do what I can, Inspector Narey, but this job is all about trust. Both ways. I’m not going to be earning the trust of the guys who come here if I turn them in to the police. I guess it depends what he’s done.’

‘Malcolm, you don’t need to worry about losing his trust. Unfortunately. What’s he’s done is died. We’re trying to identify a murder victim.’

Colvin’s mouth fell open for a moment before he steadied himself, dragging a hand through his hair. He breathed out hard. ‘Who was it? Sorry, that’s what you want me to tell you. Of course. Anything I can do. Murder?’

‘I’m afraid so, yes. We have a description of the man plus a possible name for him. As I said on the phone, we think he came down here to talk to you. Do you want a moment, Malcolm?’

Colvin’s hand was absently covering his mouth. ‘No, I . . . please ask me what you need to. Sorry, I shouldn’t still be surprised when things happen to the guys out there. One of our regulars hasn’t been seen in a couple of months and he’d stayed at the Rosewood. I’ve been worried about him. What’s the name you’ve been given of the man from the Rosewood?’

‘We think he’s called Brian Christie.’

‘No, that’s not my guy and it doesn’t ring any bells. I’m sure I don’t know that name. What’s the man’s description?’

Narey told him. Colvin processed it slowly, clearly taking his time. Finally he shrugged. ‘Well . . . no. It could be so many of them.’

‘Walter also said this man asked a lot of questions.’

Colvin still looked blank but the assistant’s voice came from the corner of the room. ‘I don’t know the name Christie but the description does sound like someone who came in a couple of times asking questions. His name was Euan though. Not Brian.’

Colvin’s eyebrows rose as a penny dropped. ‘Yes, you’re right, Maureen. Euan. Euan . . . Hepburn. It was maybe the name that threw me because I should have remembered him straight away. He was a bit different.’

‘In what way?’ Narey asked the question but thought she already knew the answer.

‘Well . . .’ Colvin hesitated. ‘Don’t quote me on this but he was different from most of the men that might have come from the Rosewood and most of those who use our service. Most of them have suffered through personal problems and circumstances outwith their control. A lot of them are quite vulnerable.’

She didn’t have the time to let him feel guilty about making generalizations about the mission’s clients. She’d do that for him.

‘Malcolm, are you saying that he was sober?’

Colvin looked uncomfortable but nodded. ‘Yes. Made him stick out a bit. He wasn’t the only one but it’s unusual. He wasn’t just sober, he’d been sober. And I’m sure he didn’t use drugs.’

‘And he asked questions?’

‘He wanted to know about the Rosewood Hotel. If that was somewhere I’d recommend for him to go. I told him I couldn’t do that. There are a lot of places in the city better for those in need than that place. In fact, and again don’t quote me, I can’t think of anywhere worse. The street would be a better option, honestly.’

‘What else did he want to know?’

‘Well he wanted to know why I thought it was so bad. Wanted to know about other places in the city for the homeless, good and bad. He asked if people ever got out of the Rosewood in one piece. We chatted for quite a while.’

Narey nodded absently, her lips pursed in thought. ‘Malcolm, you said you kept records. Would Euan Hepburn feature in them?’

‘He should. After we spoke, I passed him on down the line to get him what help we could. Keeping him out of the Rosewood was the one thing I wanted to do. He didn’t strike me as lasting long in there. He didn’t belong. I’ll get what we have on him.’

When Colvin returned five minutes later, he found Narey staring idly out the window at the old building opposite. They were level with the top of the arched windows and she could now see that the upper floors in red brick were newer than the pale stone of the ground level.

‘It’s a great building, isn’t it?’ Malcolm Colvin sensed her admiration . ‘I could look at it all day. I love old places like that. Can’t get enough of them.’

The man’s expression changed when he remembered the single piece of paper he’d come back with. His apologetic look didn’t fill Narey with much hope.

‘Inspector Narey, I’m sorry but we’ve no record of him. I spoke to the staff but the only one that remembers him thinks that he just left after speaking to me. We’d asked him to wait so we could help him out but it seems he just slipped away. He must have left us and gone to the Rosewood despite what I said.’

‘Shit. So what’s this?’ She nodded at the piece of paper Colvin held.

The man gave a slightly embarrassed smile. ‘My mobile number. In case I can help with anything else.’

Narey caught the birth of a smirk on Toshney’s face. It died a sudden death as soon as he saw her looking. She thanked Colvin, said she’d be in touch if they needed anything more and began to direct the DC out the door with a glare.

Colvin called after them, ‘Inspector Narey. I might be completely wrong here but Euan . . . well like I said, he was different from most men that come here. I’m not even sure he was homeless at all.’

‘Nor me, Malcolm. Nor me.’

Chapter 12

Monday afternoon

It sometimes occurred to Winter that his uncle, Danny Neilson, had never changed in all the time he’d known him. Danny had seemed old to him when Winter was a kid. Old but big and strong, patient and wise. None of that had altered. Danny was one of those people who grew into his age. Being in his sixties seemed to suit him. He’d filled out into what he should always have been.

He’d done his thirty years in the police, mainly as a sergeant, and he still worked a beat of sorts. He spent his nights as a taxi-rank superintendent keeping part of Glasgow safe and the other part in order as best he could. The drunk had not yet been stewed that Danny couldn’t keep in line.

Danny was Danny. Solid. Always there when he was needed, gruff, tough and rough but capable of being as gentle as a summer breeze. And the smartest man that Winter had ever known.

When Tony had called wanting to speak, Danny had suggested they meet for a lunchtime coffee in Lola & Livvy’s under the Hielanman’s Umbrella - the glasswalled railway bridge that carried Central Station’s platforms across Argyle Street and was historically a meeting place for Highlanders relocated to the big city. The café was fronted in the green and gold of the Umbrella’s refurb, and inside it had a Mediterranean vibe with tiled floors, exposed walls, whitewashed wood and red-leather sofas.

‘This place is a bit trendy for you, isn’t it?’

Danny shrugged and lifted his mug as evidence. ‘Great coffee. Great cakes as well. What do I care what the décor’s like?’

‘Fair enough. Wasn’t trying to suggest you weren’t a man of refinement.’

‘Yes you were. So how have you been, son? Haven’t heard from you in a month or two. Everything okay?’