"And when did you put it in the rubbish?"

"A couple of days ago."

"Look, Parry. That was withholding evidence. That was destroying evidence."

"But the case is closed!"

"You knew I had my suspicions about the lad's death. And what about the parents? Didn't you think they might have wanted their son's Bible?"

"It's no big deal, Hamish. Och, you're just showing off in front of the lady here."

Hamish loomed over him. "I'll be back, Parry."

"Where are you going?"

"Neffer you mind, Parry. Come on, Olivia."

"Where are we going?" she asked when they were in the Land Rover.

"We're going back to the police station to get a couple of powerful torches and we're going to search the council dump."

"It'll be like looking for a needle in a haystack, Hamish!"

"I've got to try."

"You know," said Olivia, "Parry's story did ring true."

"Not to me. Any decent crofter would have got in touch with me and confessed to still having that Bible if he had genuinely forgotten about it."

"So is there something fishy about him?"

"I can't think of anything but getting that Bible. There's Sean Fitzpatrick's cottage. He might lend us a couple of torches and save us going all the way home."

Hamish climbed down and Olivia stayed in the Land Rover.

"What is it now?" grumbled Sean when he answered the door. "I thought you might be getting over your adventures."

"I wondered if you could lend me a couple of strong torches," said Hamish.

"What for?"

"I'm going to search the council tip."

"That should take you about a year. What are you looking for?"

"If you must know, a Bible."

"A Bible? If it had been jewellery or money or something useful, I would have sent you to Crummy Joey."

"Who the hell's Crummy Joey?"

"He's the chief scavenger. Searches the tip for valuables."

"And where can I find him?"

"You'll find an old wooden fisherman's hut, right down on the shore near the tip. He lives there. But a Bible!"

"Have you got torches or not?"

"Oh, I suppose I'd better let you have them or I'll never get any peace."

He turned and went into the house and came back with two torches. "Return them to me in good order," he said. "And while you're at it, you might get me some spare batteries."

"All right." Hamish leapt into the Land Rover and gave the torches to Olivia.

He told her about the scavenger as they drove along. "Not very hopeful," said Olivia gloomily.

"It's a chance. Then we'll go back and grill Parry."

Olivia suppressed a sigh. She had been looking forward to preparing a dinner for Hamish and going to bed with him.

"Why don't you report it to headquarters?" she said. "They could get a squad of men out to comb the tip in the morning."

"You forget, the case is closed."

"But we're still heroes to them. They'd do it." She took out her mobile phone. "I'll call them now."

"No!" said Hamish sharply.

She studied his face in the light from the dash and then she said quietly, "You're trying to find some proof before landing your friend Parry in it."

"If we find the Bible by some miracle and there's nothing in it but scripture, then I'll return it to his parents and say no more about it."

"You didn't even ask Parry about the coincidence of having two drug addicts as tenants."

"I'll get to that," said Hamish grimly.

At last the council tip outside Strathbane came into view in the moonlight, a wasteland of garbage above which the ever restless seagulls wheeled and dived.

"There's a wood shack over there," said Hamish, pointing to a shed of a building on the shoreline. "And there's a light on."

He drove the Land Rover as near it as he could. They climbed down and walked over the tussocky grass and then across shingle to the door of the hut.

He knocked on the door and called, "Police. Open up!"

There was a shuffling of feet inside and then the door creaked open. A truly filthy old man stood there, illuminated in the candlelight from the room behind. He was clutching a packet of biscuits. His rags were covered in biscuit crumbs.

"What do you want?"

"We're looking for something you may have picked up on the tip."

"I only get wee bits and pieces," whined Joey. "Why should I not pick up what folks are eager to throw away?"

"We're not accusing you of anything," said Olivia soothingly. "We only need your help."

"Come ben." He shuffled backwards into the malodorous hut which was crammed with old newspapers, odd bits of iron, pieces of china, biscuit packet wrappings, old tyres and various glass jars and bottles.

How long had he lived like this? wondered Olivia. His face was seamed and wrinkled and his eyes small and watery. The stink rising from his rags was choking.

"We wondered if you might have picked up a Bible," said Hamish. He and Olivia stood. There was nowhere to sit down. There was a filthy mattress in one corner and one kitchen chair on which Joey now sat, staring up at Hamish, whose bright hair brushed the ceiling.

Joey shook his head. "No Bible. And if I saw one, I wouldnae take it. Bad luck."

His voice was faint and singsong.

Olivia went over and crouched down beside Joey's chair. "We're really anxious to locate a certain Bible which was thrown away two days ago. We'd pay you for your help."

He looked at her and smiled, exposing a mouthful of white false teeth. "My, what a bonny lassie you are," he crooned. "How much?"

"A tenner."

He struggled out of the chair and Olivia stood up and backed off. "I can take you to where the latest stuff would be."

"That's grand," said Hamish.

Joey took up an old hurricane lantern and lit it with one of the candles which were stuck in wine bottles. Then he blew out the candles.

Unlike some council tips, this one was not locked, nor did it have a fence around it. With surprising agility, Joey trotted ahead with his lantern and soon they were stumbling over piles of garbage. The moon shone down and the seagulls screamed and dived. Frost was beginning to glitter on the piles of garbage. Olivia shivered and wished she had put on warmer clothes.

They reached a sort of road between the rubbish where the council trucks drove in. After about a mile of walking, Joey said, "It'll be ower here, a bittie. And probably up on top."

The latest truckloads had obviously run up a path and dumped their loads on top of the mountains of garbage already there.

Flashing their torches, Olivia and Hamish and Joey began to search. After an hour, freezing with cold, and utterly miserable, Olivia could only admire the energy of Joey, who scrabbled away, humming under his breath. She had a sudden sharp longing for the busy streets of Glasgow, the buses, the shops, all familiar territory and, above all, where she was always in control, always in charge. Ever since the drug case began, she reflected, she had felt as if she were only some sort of female sidekick to Hamish Macbeth.

Another hour. Her clothes stank and her nostrils reeked with the smell of the tip. A seagull swooped down and screamed in her ear and she let out a startled cry, lost her footing and fell backwards into a pile of kitchen waste.

"Olivia!" called Hamish. "Why don't you go back to the Land Rover and warm up?"

But the feeling that she might not be as strong or as tough as any man drove Olivia on. "I'll be all right," she said.

Her nose was beginning to run. Her eyes were beginning to run with the cold. And then she saw an edge of black leather binding. Laying the torch on the ground, she got down on her knees and scraped away the debris. It was a Bible.

Her voice croaking with cold and excitement, she shouted, "I've got a Bible."

Hamish scampered down from the top of a pile of rubbish. "I'll hold your torch. Open it."