‘Cheers.’

‘Oh yeah. Cheers.’

Winter raised his glass and took a better look at the guy over the top of it. He was in his mid to late twenties, with a mess of fair hair and a light sprinkling of freckles. He had bony shoulders and skinny arms, barely a pound of fat on him anywhere. Seen more meat on a butcher’s pencil, as his Uncle Danny would say. He seemed an unlikely candidate to slit another man’s throat.

‘So where you from, Remy?’

The guy hesitated. ‘East End. You?’

‘Charing Cross. Like I said, I’m a photographer. What about yourself?’

Remy looked wary. ‘I work in a supermarket. You really been down the Molendinar Tunnel?’

‘Aye. Till it got so low that there didn’t seem a way through without getting on my belly and crawling. Was it in the papers that you read about the guy they found down there?’

‘Uh huh. I saw it on the TV news too. There’s not been much about it since though.’

‘You been keeping an eye on it?’

‘What? Yes, I suppose so. Just interested.’

‘Yeah, me too.’

‘When did you go down there, Tony? I mean you didn’t say when the others were talking about it.’

‘Quite recently. I didn’t want to mention it when we were talking about the poor guy being killed. Didn’t seem right. Would have made me sound like a suspect. You know?’

Feeks laughed uncomfortably. ‘I guess it would have. Did you take photographs when you were down there?’

‘Yeah, I did. Quite a few.’

‘Right. Cool.’

‘You ever explored the Molendinar yourself, Remy?’

‘Me? No.’

His reply was just too quick and just too hollow. Winter let it simmer for a bit, sipping his pint and noticing that Remy had barely touched his.

‘So what do you think happened to the guy they found?

Feeks shrugged, his pointed shoulders rising and falling like a kid who’d been asked how his school day had been.

Winter tried again. ‘Suspicious circumstances according to the cops. You think that’s right?’

He reddened ever so slightly and the hand that went to his pint glass had a tremble in it. ‘I don’t know. I guess the police should know so it must have been.’

‘Yeah. That makes sense.’

Feeks didn’t say anything more for a bit. He looked around the room and Winter could see his mind was in overdrive.

‘Do you know a lot of people who urbex?’ he asked at last.

‘Not many,’ Winter told him. ‘Most of them I met this evening.’

‘Do you know anyone that might fit the description of the guy in the tunnel? I mean, he might not have been exploring but he might have been. You know?’

Winter nodded. ‘Yeah, he might. There was one guy I knew years ago I did some explores with. He was about the same height, same hair colour.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’ Winter watched Feeks intently. ‘His name was Euan Hepburn. Probably a different guy though. The one I knew moved to England.’

The name meant nothing to him. That was obvious.

‘Maybe you should tell the police, Tony.’

‘Yeah. Maybe I should.’

Another awkward silence fell on them. It was like they were in a competition daring the other not to speak. If they were, Feeks lost. He quickly downed some more of the pint and all but jumped to his feet.

‘I’ve got to go. Do you want me to buy you a drink before I go?’

‘No, no need. Listen, are you okay, Remy? You seem upset about all this.’

‘Eh? No. I’m . . . I’m fine. I’d better go. Sorry.’ Feeks looked like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words.

‘No worries. I’ll get you out. Time for me to go anyway.’

Chapter 35

It was raining by the time the two of them left Oran Mor together, the ones named Winter and Feeks, but it wasn’t difficult to see them. From the shadows of a doorway across Byres Road, they were lit up like Christmas trees under the orange glow of the street light.

They stood on the steps, speaking and shaking hands like old friends before going their separate ways. Had they known each other all along? It hadn’t seemed like that in the pub but maybe they’d been hiding it.

Feeks and the blonde girl, Gabby, had hung back at first after everyone else had left. She went off and then the older guy had appeared. He and Feeks had gone back inside. That had been a worry.

The temptation had been to follow them inside again. Try to hear what they were saying. But the risk was too great. Too hard to explain if noticed.

So there had been no choice but to wait. It was an uneasy, enraging wait. Not seeing, not hearing, not knowing. It just made for a headache, a brain-pounding pain that throbbed black and dull.

They were in there for a long time. Twice, the urge to check on them nearly became too much. Twice, feet started to follow heart before head said no. Wait, just wait. Try to stay calm and wait.

It was impossible not to wonder though. What were they talking about? What information were they sharing? What did they know?

The stone steps outside Oran Mor were dappled with the first spots of rain and still there was no sign of them. Willing Winter and Feeks to appear through the arch of the door did no good either. It worked as well as trying to wish things away.

The pain had grown thicker and darker, feeding on frustration and anger, becoming blacker and bigger with every pulse. Then, finally, they showed. Smug and conspiratorial on the steps. Sly handshakes, a wave goodbye and slipping off into the night thinking themselves out of sight. Thinking themselves clever. They weren’t, not clever at all.

Only one of them could be followed though. Which? Eenie meenie miney mo. It was Winter.

The man turned and headed down Byres Road towards Hillhead underground. It meant a quick dash out of the shadows and across the road, trying to stay close but not too close. A late hop onto a different carriage of the same train. Winter went only two stops, getting off at St George’s Cross. Over the interchange and along the length of St George’s Road, hugging shop fronts and darkness. Finally, along North Street past the Koh-i-Noor and to the corner where the dome of the Mitchell Library shone like a lighthouse in a rough sea. But when the corner was turned, Winter was nowhere to be seen.

Had he gone inside the library? The building was still open so it was possible but the entrance was far enough away to make it unlikely. Across Berkeley Street in a weird panic, standing in the shade of the sandstone and looking around. There. Back across the street. Just in time to see a light go on and a figure closing blinds at the window.

It was him.

It was where he lived.

Chapter 36

Narey had parked up outside a house in Rowallan Gardens in Broomhill and had just stepped out of the car when her phone began ringing. She cursed the timing of it but pulled the mobile from her pocket and looked at the screen. The call was from her dad’s care home. At nearly eight in the evening? It was unlikely to be good news.

She nibbled at her upper lip, debating whether she really wanted to hear whatever it was they had to tell her. There was no argument to be had. She opened the car door and fell back into the driver’s seat.