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and Gray reached the top of a short flight of steps. From an opened doorway, a young woman with blond hair and blue denim jeans frowned at them.
    Gilchrist turned to Sa. ‘Did you talk to Patterson?’
    ‘About what?’
    ‘MacMillan’s statement.’
    ‘That’s old news, Andy. The ACC’ll have a copy by now. What’s your point?’
    ‘He talked to McKinnon.’
    ‘Patterson?’ she sneered. ‘He talks to everybody.’ Her gaze locked on to his in an unfamiliar moment of intimacy. ‘I wouldn’t give Patterson the time of day,’ she went on. ‘He’s violated the integrity of your investigation. You should file a complaint.’
    ‘He’d deny it.’
    ‘I’d support you.’
    ‘I didn’t know you cared.’
    ‘You’re being set up, Andy. Patterson wants you off the case. You know that, don’t you? And I don’t like it.’
    ‘What’s in it for him?’
    Sunlight burst through the grey clouds and Gilchrist noticed one of Sa’s eyes had more flecks of green in it than the other.
    ‘Safety,’ she said. ‘His.’
    Gilchrist frowned.
    ‘You threaten him,’ she added.
    As Sa’s words fluttered through his mind, he realized how little he knew of her. She had lived in St Andrews most of her life, never married, and lesbian rumours did the Office rounds from time to time. Gilchrist had never given them any credence and something in the way she now looked at him strengthened his belief.
    ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
    Sa turned, and Gilchrist found himself staring at Wilson and Gray as they stepped inside. As the young woman in blue jeans turned to close the door, Gilchrist thought he caught a glint of recognition in her eyes.
     
    ‘You should call the police.’
    ‘Cindy, I don’t even know what he looks like. What do I tell them?’
    ‘They’d have your call on record. If it happens again—’
    ‘Don’t.’ Beth closed her eyes, pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘Don’t say that.’
    Her body gave an involuntary shudder.
    In the small utility room at the back of her shop, she had run her hands under the tap for a full minute, scouring her skin and fingernails with a nailbrush, washing her wrists and forearms with hefty squirts of antibacterial soap. She had dried herself off and looked in the mirror, checked that nothing had dripped onto her clothes. And when Cindy arrived she had asked her to give her the once over, too.
    But the worst part had been swabbing the door handle, the glass panel, the entrance tiles, with soapy water, then sluicing the area down with disinfectant. Afterwards, she had trashed the gloves and wash-rag.
    She shuddered again at the thought of it.
    But how could she file a complaint?
    Finding the words to tell the police that someone had ejaculated on her door was beyond her. Without a description, what could they do? And she had unwittingly destroyed all the evidence. She had no option but to work through the rest of the day as if nothing had happened. But despite her outer resolve, she could not rid herself of the unsettling feeling that continued to sweep through her.
    What if the man returned?
    What then?

CHAPTER 6
     
    Gilchrist kept his finger on the doorbell longer than considered courteous. He was concerned by Mrs Granton’s failure to answer following Nance’s visit to break the news.
    ‘See anything?’ he asked Sa.
    She shook her head.
    Gilchrist stepped back.
    The cottage’s roughcast façade shone white in the morning light. A brass coach lamp, polished like new copper, hung by the side of a varnished door. A gleaming brass nameplate was engraved with the single word ‘Inverlea’. A stone wall ran along the boundary and hid the rear garden from passers-by.
    Gilchrist peered over.
    A tidy lawn with crisp edges, the flower bed turned over for the winter. Pruned shrubs stood against the opposite wall like shorn heads. A patio door lay open to reveal several dark inches of interior.
    ‘Back in a tick,’ he said, and gripped the cold stone.
    He swung