‘You brought your boys,’ Mike commented.

‘Don’t fret – they don’t know it’s you I’m visiting.’

‘Why not?’

Chib gave a shrug. ‘Not sure who to trust these days… and it’s nice to keep a few secrets, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose so, though it didn’t stop you telling Hate my name.’

‘You leave Hate to me, Mike.’ Chib was wagging a finger. He decided that he’d spent enough time admiring the paintings, and had started on another circuit of the room. ‘It’s all right for some, eh? I mean, look at you – you’ve got your money in the bank, art on your penthouse walls… and behind the sofa. You’re living high on the hog, Mr Michael Mackenzie.’ Calloway gave a humourless chuckle. ‘Some of us still have to go out there and graft for a living. This coffee’s champion, by the way. Any more of it going?’

Mike took the empty mug and headed for the kitchen. He didn’t like it that Chib knew where he lived; liked it even less that his goons were stationed outside, and that Chib now knew there were four masterpieces in the apartment – not forgetting the lesser pieces exhibited on the walls. He heard a bleep from the living area and figured Chib was making a call or sending a text. He hoped it wasn’t an invitation for the goons to join the party – maybe they were coffee-lovers, too…

When he returned with the replenished mug, however, Chib was pointing towards the coffee table, on top of which sat Mike’s own mobile.

‘Sounds like you’ve got a message waiting,’ the gangster explained.

‘Thanks,’ Mike replied, handing Calloway the coffee. He walked over to the table, but then hesitated. Hadn’t his phone been sitting in the inside pocket of his jacket? The jacket that was still draped over the back of one of the chairs? He glanced towards Chib, who was studying Allan’s two Coultons again, slowly shaking his head. Mike picked up the phone and glanced at its screen. Two text messages. The first was from Laura: Need to see you was all it said. Under normal circumstances, this would have gladdened Mike’s heart, but these were far from normal circumstances, as the second text demonstrated.

Westie short-changed. Another picture or 20K cash, you choose. Alice.

‘Nothing urgent, I hope?’ Chib was asking.

‘Not really.’ Mike pretended to be punching a reply into the keypad, aware of Chib’s eyes drilling into him.

‘So you’re pretty confident about your pal Allan?’

The question caught Mike off guard. ‘Of course,’ he spluttered. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Well, because of his taste in art for one thing.’

Mike barked out something that he hoped might be construed as a laugh, Chib obliged by smiling back. He straightened his back and clasped his hands behind his head, studying the room again as if he were considering its purchase.

‘Very nice,’ he commented. ‘Bet it cost a few bob.’

‘A few,’ Mike conceded.

‘Owe any money on it?’

‘No.’

‘Didn’t expect you would, man of your talents. What’s that word they use about businessmen when they know what they’re doing…? Ecumen?’

‘Acumen,’ Mike corrected him.

‘That’s it.’ Chib nodded slowly. ‘Now do us all a favour, Mike…’ He was bearing down on Mike, for all the world as though he was going to back him against the wall. ‘Use some of that famed acumen of yours to make sure nothing goes wrong, starting with your good friend Mr Allan Cruikshank. A chain’s only as strong as its weakest link, isn’t that what they say?’ The two men stood only inches apart, so that Mike could feel the gangster’s breath on his face. He took a moment to steady himself.

‘From where I’m looking,’ he said eventually, ‘the weakest link is that headcase Hate. If he wants to take you down, all he has to do is send the cops an anonymous tip-off.’

‘But then his clients wouldn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of getting what’s owed them. When it comes down to it, they’re business people, same as you. So don’t you go worrying about that, and don’t give me cause to worry about anything at your end.’

‘A chain doesn’t have an end,’ Mike said quietly.

‘A chain’s nothing but ends!’ Calloway snapped back. They locked eyes for a moment, and then the gangster turned away. It looked to Mike as if he was readying to leave. The replenished mug, still three quarters full, was placed on the coffee table. Chib exited into the long hallway, Mike following.

‘Maybe next time I’ll get the full tour, eh?’ Calloway was gesturing towards the art that lined the walls. ‘And like I say, there’s an open invite to mine. Not half as snazzy as yours, of course, but then it’s been through the wars – a bit like its owner.’

The thing is, Mike thought to himself, I don’t know your address, while you now know mine. The front door was open, Chib striding out on to the landing with a backwards wave of the hand. Mike pressed the door closed after him and leaned against it, as if to repel further intruders. He listened out for the sound of the lift arriving, and hazarded an eye to the spy hole. The lift doors were sliding closed. He turned and walked back to the living area, scooping his phone up and making for the window. As yet there was no sign of Calloway. Mike didn’t want the gangster seeing him making a call – no telling who he’d think Mike was talking to – so he retreated a few steps into the room before punching Gissing’s number into the keypad.

Laura wants to see me…

Westie’s girlfriend is getting greedy…

But it was Gissing he wanted; maybe the professor could offer solace, or at least the vague reassurance that, as bad as things might seem, Mike’s life was not yet ready to implode.

The call was answered. ‘My boy, this is unexpected…’ The line was terrible, Gissing’s voice breaking up.

‘Where are you?’ Mike asked.

‘Keeping my head down, just as we agreed. At least, I thought that’s what we’d agreed…’

‘How much does Ransome know?’

‘He seems to know that I know Charles Calloway.’

‘How is that even possible?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

‘Things are starting to unravel.’ Mike heard the BMW’s engine starting.

‘I’m sure you’re exaggerating, Michael.’ Gissing sounded so calm that Mike felt it a shame to spoil things. So he came to a sudden decision: he would keep the news of Allan’s paintings, Hate’s collateral and Chib’s visit to himself.

At least for now.

‘By the way,’ Mike said, ‘I’ve told Allan about Ransome.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘He took it.’ Mike paused. ‘How did it go at the warehouse yesterday? ’

‘I did all that was asked of me in my usual thorough manner. They’re even offering to pay me for my time.’

‘Your message said Ransome is probing – what does that mean?’

‘It means what it says – he’s not part of the official inquiry, yet he’s sniffing around it like a dog after a truffle. I happened to mention as much to DI Hendricks when I saw him. He wasn’t best pleased.’

‘Nicely done, Robert.’

‘I thought so,’ the professor purred. ‘Meantime, the very best thing we can do is stay calm and keep ourselves very much to ourselves, except in the direst of straits.’

These are the direst of straits, Mike wanted to tell him, but instead, watching the BMW retreat down the long, sloping driveway, he found himself agreeing. With a sigh, and running his free hand through his hair, he asked again for Gissing’s whereabouts.

‘I’m at home, keeping busy with some marking assignments. But whenever boredom strikes, I find I have one or two things I can gaze at in wonder and reverence. We are blessed, are we not, Michael?’

‘Blessed,’ Mike echoed, as Chib and his men finally disappeared from view.