There was a knock at the open door. Ransome turned his head sharply, fully expecting to see his nemesis, but it was someone else – someone he recognised. Professor Robert Gissing.

‘Oh,’ the academic began, clearly flustered. ‘I was looking for DI Hendricks…’

Ransome was on his feet, taking a step forwards. ‘He’s not here,’ he ventured, offering his hand. ‘I’m a colleague, DI Ransome.’

‘Yes, I saw you at Marine Drive.’

‘Did you?’

‘What about Alasdair Noone?’ Gissing was staring down at his shoes.

‘He’s around somewhere.’

‘Thank you.’ Eyes still directed floorwards. ‘I’d better have a word with him.’

But Ransome wasn’t about to let him go without a fight. ‘Professor?’

Gissing hesitated. ‘Yes?’ Eventually raising his eyes to meet the detective’s gaze.

Ransome was right in his face now. Gissing was a good inch and a half taller than him, but that meant nothing. ‘Just wondered if I could have your take on things, sir. Bungled robbery – someone on the inside – is that your reading of it?’

Gissing folded his arms – defensive again – then gave a pout and looked thoughtful. ‘I dare say more fanciful scenarios exist – I’ve seen them in today’s newspapers. But my job’s not to make wild guesses, Inspector.’

‘That’s right, sir. Your job was to verify the paintings – but you did that yesterday… so what brings you here this morning?’

Gissing straightened his back. ‘My attendance was requested by Alasdair Noone. He seems to think I may be able to pinpoint any gaps in the holdings of nineteenth- and twentieth-century Scottish art.’

‘Because that’s what the thieves took?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Pretty specialised market, would you say, sir?’

‘Hardly – there are collectors from Canada to Shanghai.’

‘Your field of expertise, though?’

‘I suppose so, yes.’

‘Well, I’d better let you get on – inventory’s well underway already. ’

For the first time, Gissing seemed to notice the activity going on around them.

‘Due to happen in a few weeks anyway, wasn’t it?’ Ransome added. ‘Robbery just speeded it up.’

‘Look, Inspector, I’m not sure how any of this can be of benefit to your investigation.’

‘Oh, it’s not my investigation, Professor Gissing – I’m just curious, that’s all.’ Ransome paused, watching Gissing try to take this in. ‘Shame about Mr Allison, wasn’t it?’

The question threw the academic.

‘Him being the resident expert and all,’ Ransome pressed on. ‘Do you know him, sir? I believe he’s pretty badly shaken…’

‘Terrible business,’ Gissing seemed to agree.

‘Still, silver linings and all that, eh?’

‘I’m not sure I get your meaning.’

Ransome gave a shrug. ‘I’m just saying, it’s lucky you were on hand to step into the breach, so to speak.’

‘Yes, well…’ Gissing, having nothing to add, was again about to leave.

‘See much of Chib Calloway these days?’

Gissing kept his back to the detective for several seconds, then half turned his head. ‘Sorry – what was that name again?’

Ransome just smiled and winked.

The two paintings were still propped up on one of the sofas in Mike Mackenzie’s penthouse. So far today Mike hadn’t been able to spend as much time as he would have liked with Lady Monboddo. He’d had to surf the web, checking the level of interest – national and international – in the heist. Either the National Galleries had been ‘spectacularly lucky’ or else the robbers had been ‘spectacularly inept’.

‘Cack-handed, they called it in my day,’ Allan Cruikshank had offered when he arrived at the flat. He’d also warned that Mike should be thinking of a hiding place for the two paintings.

‘What have you done with yours?’ Mike asked in return.

‘Under the desk in my study.’

‘Reckon there’s a chance the cops will miss them if they come looking?’

‘What the hell else can I do? Stick them in the bank for safe keeping?’

Mike just shrugged. Allan was looking awful. He kept wandering over to the window and staring down towards the car park, as if fearing the imminent arrival of blue flashing lights. The pair of them had stepped out on to the balcony for a cigarette, Mike trying to push away the thought that his friend might be about to jump, but glad all the same when they retreated indoors. Mike had made peppermint tea, which Allan said he couldn’t remember asking for. He held the mug cupped in both hands.

‘Help you relax,’ Mike offered.

‘Relax?’ Allan hooted, rolling his eyes.

‘How much sleep did you get last night?’

‘Not much,’ Allan conceded. ‘Tell me, have you ever read any Edgar Allan Poe? “The Tell-Tale Heart”?’

‘We just have to hold our nerve, Allan. A few days of fuss and it’ll all die down – you’ll see.’

‘How can you say that?’ A splash of tea had spilled on to the wooden floor, but Allan seemed not to have noticed. ‘We still know what we did!’

‘Why not shout a bit louder? I’m sure the neighbours will be thrilled.’

Allan’s eyes widened. He removed one hand from the mug so he could clamp it over his mouth. Mike didn’t bother saying he’d been exaggerating for effect – the flat was pretty well soundproofed. When he’d first moved in, he’d cranked up the hi-fi then gone downstairs to ask the couple – he a restaurateur; she an interior designer – if they could hear it.

‘I’m sorry,’ Allan was muttering now from behind his fingers. He went to sit down, but his eyes fell on the paintings again. ‘You really should hide those,’ he advised, voice quavering.

‘If anyone asks, they’re copies,’ Mike explained soothingly. ‘You could do the same – stick them on a wall where you can see them… maybe the Coultons will calm you down where mere mortals like myself can’t.’

‘They’re better than any of the ones First Caly has,’ Allan intoned.

‘Yes, they are,’ Mike agreed. ‘Look, the whole point of this exercise – if you cast your mind back – was the pleasure of owning a masterpiece or two. The professor’s already convinced everyone they’ve got their paintings back. Today at the warehouse, he’ll reinforce that – nothing missing, everything accounted for. After that, the media interest will disappear in a puff of smoke.’

‘I wish I could disappear in a puff of smoke.’ Allan bounded to his feet again and made for the window. ‘What about this cop you mentioned?’

‘I wish to God I hadn’t,’ Mike muttered to himself. Having told Gissing not to say anything, he’d decided Allan actually did need to know about Ransome. They were a team, after all, and they were still mates. You didn’t keep stuff hidden from your mates. But when Mike had called him to explain, Allan had said he was coming straight over.

‘He’s already on our trail,’ Allan persisted.

‘He’s got nothing. Even if he thinks something fishy’s going on, how’s he going to prove it?’

But Allan was not to be consoled. ‘What if I give mine back? Or just abandon them somewhere?’

‘Good thinking…’ Mike bore down on his friend. ‘Then they’ll know the ones they found in the van are copies and start wondering why the esteemed professor didn’t say anything.’

Allan gritted his teeth in frustration. ‘You take them, then. I’ll give them to you. I can’t get to sleep with them in the house!’

Mike considered his options, and placed a hand on Allan’s shoulder. ‘Okay, how about this – we’ll bring them here, and I’ll look after them for a few days… maybe even a week or two, just until you start to feel good about them.’

Allan thought for a moment, and then nodded slowly.

‘As long as we’re agreed,’ Mike persisted. ‘I’m holding them for you, not taking them from you. Is it a deal?’ He waited until Allan started nodding again. ‘And we don’t tell anyone else,’ he added. ‘It’s our little secret.’

Mike did not want anyone knowing that Allan was getting the shakes – least of all Chib Calloway. He was hoping it was just shock, meaning it would wear off. On those occasions when he’d been able to study the portrait of Monboddo’s wife, he’d been unable not to see another face there – not Laura’s this time, but the man called Hate. Something told Mike that even if he were never again to be in the same room as him, he’d still be haunted by the face and figure.