‘Yes?’

‘Miss Narey? I mean, Inspector Narey? ‘

‘Yes. Who’s speaking?’ The voice was familiar but it wasn’t Mrs McBriar, the home owner. It was someone younger. It was . . .

‘Jess. Jess Docherty. From Clober Nursing Home. I look after your dad.’

She breathed deeply. ‘Hi, Jess. What’s wrong? Is he okay?’

‘Yes. Well, no. I mean he’s okay but he’s a bit stressed. He’s been asking for you and I can’t calm him down. I usually can but he’s agitated and worried. He keeps going on about Huntly Avenue. You used to live there, didn’t you?’

‘Huntly Avenue? When I was about thirteen! What is he agitated about?’

‘He keeps asking when you’ll get here. Or there. He thinks he’s in Huntly Avenue. He’s worried about buses being off and you not being able to get home. It’s really upsetting him. I’ve told him you’ll be fine but he’s not having it. He wants to pick you up in his car and I’m having to say no. Could you maybe come over and see him?’

Narey looked through the car’s window at the house she was about to visit, the home of Jennifer Cairns’ best friend. This wasn’t a choice she wanted to make.

‘There was a bus strike when I was in second year at high school. I had to walk nearly three miles to get home and he was out of his mind with worry. I’ll get there as soon as I can, Jess. What time do you finish your shift?’

A pause. ‘Forty-five minutes ago.’

‘What? Why are you still there?’

‘I told you. He’s agitated. I couldn’t go home and leave him like that. Wouldn’t have felt right.’

Eileen McBriar had said that Jess wasn’t the problem she seemed to be. She said that surly was just the way her face was, just the way she spoke. She’d insisted to Narey that Jess was a good worker and that she genuinely cared. It looked like she might have been right.

‘Jess, I need to do something before I can get over. But I’ll be as quick as I can. Can you stay with him? I know it’s asking a lot.’

‘Course.’

‘Thank you.’

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Carrie Thomson was a good looking forty-something dressed as an early thirty-something but pulling the look off effortlessly and stylishly. Blonde and tanned, she was wearing money and it suited her. The only clue that anything was wrong was in her make-up, eyes smudged from running mascara and cheeks streaked with tears. Narey also had the distinct impression that she’d been drinking.

The strain in her voice was obvious and her slightly manic manner was testament to her insistence that she wasn’t Jen Cairns’ friend, she was her best friend.

‘Of course I’ll help you. Why the hell would I do anything else? I can’t go five minutes without thinking about her and bursting into tears. What happened to her?’

Narey and Thomson were sitting in the front room of the woman’s large and expensively furnished house in the West End, a couple of streets back from Clarence Drive. Becca Maxwell sat quietly to the side, letting Narey connect one to one with the woman.

‘To be honest with you, Mrs Thomson, we don’t know yet. That’s why we need to talk to as many people as possible who can help us build a picture of Jennifer’s life and movements. So you were close?’

‘I think I was as close to her as anyone. We’d known each other for twenty years. Best friends isn’t just a label, it’s the way it was. She was godmother to my eldest. We didn’t go a couple of days without speaking, rarely more than one. Yes, we were close. We knew each other better than anyone else did.’

‘Better than her husband?’

Thomson laughed bitterly. ‘Much better, I’d say. Douglas is a lovely man in many ways but he didn’t always get her. There was ten years between them but it seemed that gap was growing. He was getting older quicker than she was. Jen could talk to me about stuff that he just wouldn’t understand or be interested in.’

‘Like what?’

The woman shrugged expansively as if there was so much she didn’t know where to start. ‘Fashion. Art. Music. Food. If we’d even mention a celebrity then Douglas would start muttering and leave the room. He has very fixed ideas on why people should be famous and they don’t include much more than being a politician or a classical composer.’

‘Did they get on?’

Thomson’s eyebrows shot up and she moved back in her seat. ‘What are you actually asking me?’

‘Just what I said. Did Mr and Mrs Cairns get on well? Were they happy together?’

Carrie crossed her arms and locked them tight. ‘Douglas was happy.’

‘But not Jen?’

‘I’m not saying that.’

‘Then what are you saying?’

‘He was happier than she was. Jen needed a bit more than Douglas seemed able to give her. That doesn’t make her a bad person.’

Narey’s voice softened. ‘I’m not saying it does. Carrie, I’m not here to judge Jen in any way. I’m here to find who killed her.’

The woman stared for a bit then nodded, relaxing slightly. A thought occurred to her but she held on to it for a while, reluctant to set it free. Finally, she did.

‘Do you think it was Douglas?’

‘I’m sorry to answer a question with a question, Carrie, but do you think it could have been Mr Cairns?’

Thomson’s eyebrows knotted in thought as her head made little sideway movements. ‘I don’t think he has it in him.’

‘But you think he may have had reason to?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ The answer was too quick.

Narey nodded, making it obvious she had read a lot into the woman’s answer. ‘Carrie, I know you’re sitting here to defend your friend but I need to remind you that you are also here to help her. Was—’

‘You don’t need to remind me of that,’ Thomson snapped.

‘Was Jen having an affair?’

Carrie’s mouth screwed shut involuntarily and Narey knew she’d been right. She watched the woman’s mind battle with itself, knowing it was just a matter of time.

‘Yes.’ The word came out laced with bitterness; she was angry at being forced to betray her friend. Narey felt sympathy for her but didn’t have time for it.

‘Thank you. I need to know this. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Was this the first time she had been involved with another man?’ Narey knew she had lost any hope of the woman liking her enough to help her so there was little more to be lost on that score.

‘No. She’d had an affair once before. Look, this wasn’t her fault. She . . . Look, Douglas couldn’t get it up any more. Okay? Too much stress and Shiraz. So I think she went for a younger, better-functioning model.’

‘Carrie. I’ll say it again. I’m not judging, I’m not blaming. I just need to know. If Jen had previous affairs then the man or men might be suspects.’

The nod of agreement was grudging. ‘She saw a guy named Phil Traynor, a car salesman, for a few months but it ended maybe a year ago. He was married too and they both thought they’d pushed their luck far enough. There was no falling out. No recriminations.’

‘Where can I find this Phil Traynor?’

A shrug. ‘As I said, he’s a car salesman. BMW dealership in the north of the city, I think. He’s married.’

‘I kind of think that’s his problem, don’t you? And we’ll be discreet. We have done this kind of thing before. Anyone else other than the man she was seeing before she was killed?’

‘No. And I’d have known. She wasn’t some kind of slut. She was a good person.’

‘Okay, what about the man she’d been seeing lately? What can you tell me about him?’

Thomson stood up, her hands going back through her straight blonde hair. ‘I think I need a drink. Can I get you something?’

‘No, thank you.’

Narey heard glasses clinking from the next room and a fridge door opening and closing. She could also hear nerves fraying. Thomson returned a couple of minutes later with a glass of white wine held shakily in her right hand. Narey gave her time to drink some courage from it before asking her to continue.