Sam started the car. ‘Something you want to tell us?’ he asked Don, passing his phone back to him. Don pocketed it.

‘Not your business, lads. But Celine Watts most definitely is. I thought you’d want her stopped. She’s on the run, with a wedge of cash. If we don’t set off after her right now…’

‘That’s not what the boss wants, Don.’

‘He isn’t always right, you know.’

Sam nodded slowly. ‘All the same…’

All the same, Don knew which way the car would go. They were heading back towards Glasgow and a showdown.

Patrol cars were on the hunt for George Renshaw. His usual lawyer had been told that the police wanted a word. But Jane knew that if Renshaw wanted to disappear, he would find it easy, in the short term at least.

She was back at the station. Andrew Hanley was in an interview room. He’d been reluctant to say anything, until told about the blood-stained shoes and the damage to his car. It would be a simple enough matter to match any flecks of paint to the car he’d reversed into on the garage forecourt. Then there was the newspaper with the meeting jotted down on it.

‘I want to talk to my solicitor,’ Hanley had stated, head in hands, a cold cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

‘Your wife’s in the next room, Mr Hanley. Do you want a word with her too?’

Bob and Jane met in the corridor. They had big smiles for one another.

‘I’m going to be Willy Wonka by the end of this,’ Bob said. Jane patted his arm.

‘We’re not out of the woods yet.’

‘No, but we’re getting there.’ He held up a slip of paper. The list of tasks she had given him. ‘Initial forensic report, same fingerprints on the Bentley and the car in the graveyard. Probably Don Empson’s, but that’ll take a bit longer to confirm. Blood and brain matter on one wing of the Bentley, Raymond’s, I’m pretty sure. And by the way, the Bentley’s owner’s not too happy with the valet job.’

Jane smiled and folded her arms, knowing there was more to come. Bob checked his list again.

‘Blood in the graveyard is the same group as one of the pools in the garage. Again, we’re waiting for a DNA match.’

‘But no blood in the graveyard car?’

‘No.’

‘And none inside either the Bentley or Benjamin Flowers’ abandoned sportster?’

Bob shook his head. ‘But Benjy’s employer says he’s gone AWOL.’

‘Our wounded gunman? Missing, along with some cash and Empson’s BMW.’

‘Find one and we probably find all three.’

‘What about this guy who works at the graveyard, how does he fit in?’

Bob shrugged. ‘Maybe he doesn’t. But a pound to a penny says it comes down to Stewart Renshaw.’

Jane’s eyes narrowed. ‘How so?’

‘Word is, he’s got a new casino looking for planning permission.’

‘Has he now?’ Jane thought for a moment. ‘But he’s on the straight and narrow, isn’t he?’

‘We’ve never had proof to the contrary, if that’s what you mean.’ Bob pursed his lips.

‘Well, well.’ Jane folded her arms, deep in thought. ‘Hanley goes to the garage to pick up a bribe. It goes wrong somehow.’

‘Somebody got greedy.’

‘Benjamin Flowers?’ She nodded slowly. ‘I’d still like to get my hands on Don Empson,’ she said.

‘You need to be patient.’

She stared at him. ‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning putting the team to work. Stake out anywhere George Renshaw or Don Empson might turn up. At least one of them’s got to be on the hunt for Benjy, and my guess would be Empson.’

‘Hunting his own nephew?’

It was Bob’s turn to nod.

‘So all we can do is wait?’ she asked.

‘All we can do is wait,’ Bob confirmed.

Gorgeous George needs a taxi

It was a short walk from the café to the taxi office. George didn’t go there much, even though he owned the place. Owned all the taxis, too. He had someone else fronting the operation for him, but it was his money behind it, and him raking in the profits. Taxis, his dad had told him, were useful. You could use them for ferrying merchandise and people around the city and further afield. Nobody looked twice at a taxi. George was there because he needed a bit of ferrying himself. His car was at the scrapyard. There was no way he could go back for it. He had two more cars in the garage at his house, but he reckoned police would be waiting for him there too. So instead, he would use a taxi. As he walked into the office, the three drivers stood up. So did the woman who was working the telephone. Magazines and newspapers hit the floor. Mugs of tea trembled in their hands.

One thing they all knew. Somebody was in trouble.

‘Easy,’ George reassured them, holding his palms up. ‘Nothing to worry about, I just need a lift somewhere.’

All three were willing, pretended to be eager even. George pointed to the nearest one. ‘You’ll do,’ he said.

Out at the taxi, the driver unlocked the doors and asked where they were going.

‘Edinburgh,’ he was told.

He nodded, trying to hide his surprise. That was the rest of his shift taken care of. Having climbed into the back, George was already busy with his phone. He wanted to talk to Sam and Eddie, wanted to make sure they were getting things right for once. He saw the driver fiddling with something and leaned forward in his seat.

‘Am I seeing things,’ he growled, ‘or did you just put the meter on?’

‘Force of habit,’ the driver said, switching it off again.

So busy were driver and passenger that, as the taxi roared out of the parking lot, neither noticed the unmarked police car as it reversed into a tight parking space. The two detectives in the car looked at one another.

‘Was that him?’ one asked.

His partner replied with a nod. Their car did a U-turn and got ready to follow the black cab at a distance.

I was going to miss Celine.

‘I’ve only just learned to say your name the right way,’ I told her.

She was emptying the red bag into a suitcase. It was one of those posh ones with wheels and a handle. When she came back from the shops with it, she brought me a present: one of Celine Dion’s CDs.

‘That who you’re named after?’ I asked.

‘Suppose so,’ she said, busy with the suitcase again. She was going to go on a train. It was a special train that left Edinburgh last thing at night and arrived in London next morning. She’d explained that you got a bed and you could sleep all the way there.

‘Sounds nice, Celine. Why can’t I come?’

But she shook her head. ‘Safer for you if you stay here.’

‘You said they’d be watching the stations.’

‘That’s a chance I’ve got to take.’

‘There’s always the car.’

‘It’s Don Empson’s car, Gravy. Do you think they won’t be looking for it?’

Then she folded some of the money and stuck it in my trouser pocket. ‘You’ve been a good friend, Gravy,’ she said, and that made me blush. She’d paid for another night at the hotel, both rooms. It meant she wouldn’t be noticed as missing. She wanted me to stay the night, and in the morning I could do anything I wanted.

‘Breakfast’s included,’ she told me.

‘And after that I can go home?’ I watched her nod. ‘You think I should leave the car here?’

‘Up to you.’ She looked up at me. ‘Time you started taking some decisions, Gravy.’

‘I will,’ I said. The TV in her room had a clock on it. ‘Your train’s not for hours.’

‘I know.’

‘But you’re leaving just now?’

She nodded. ‘I’m fed up hanging around.’

‘We could go to a film,’ I blurted out. She gave me a look and a smile.

‘I’ve got a taxi coming.’

‘I could run you to the station.’

But she shook her head again. ‘Better this way,’ she said.

‘Why? Why is it better?’