‘Your choice,’ Mike allowed, handing the pictures to Westie. ‘Whichever one’s going to be easiest and quickest.’

‘He’s not fussy then, our new “partner”.’ Westie started sifting the short-list. ‘He’ll take whatever we give him, yeah?’

‘You’re a fast learner, Westie – now choose.’

Westie held up one of the pictures. ‘This one.’

Nodding, Mike turned towards Allan. ‘What do you think?’

The question caught Allan unawares. ‘Think?’ he echoed.

‘About these.’ Mike jabbed a hand towards the easels.

‘They look fine. Be even better once they’re framed. But are they really going to fool an expert?’

‘Depends on the expert,’ Mike answered. He was studying Monboddo’s portrait of his wife. It wasn’t quite finished yet – the background needed to be filled in – but from a distance of only a few feet Allan was hard pressed to tell it apart from the original. He remembered the exhibition and Mike’s reluctance to move on from the painting to the dozens of others in the show. Allan had made two circuits of the room before Mike could be tempted away. It looked like the same thing might be happening today, but then Allan caught movement out of the corner of his eye – someone was standing in the doorway.

‘What the…?’

‘Smile for the birdie.’ It was the voice of a young woman. She was holding a video camera up in front of her, training it directly at them. Westie gave a little wave.

‘Who’s this?’ Mike was asking.

It was the woman herself who answered. ‘“This” is Alice.’ She was still holding the camera in front of her at head height as she walked slowly into the room. ‘And one of you is Mike, the other Allan. Thing is, though, you know Westie’s full name, where he lives… and he knows almost nothing about you.’

Mike’s attention was on Westie. ‘Is there anything you’ve not told your girlfriend here?’

‘Why would he keep a secret from me?’ She was lowering the camera as she approached Mike. She wore a short black skirt and thick black leggings. Her T-shirt had a photo of Al Pacino on it from the movie Scarface. ‘Are you Mike or Allan?’

‘This is Mike,’ Westie said. He had the good grace to look embarrassed by the stunt Alice was pulling. All the same, Allan got the feeling he’d known about it in advance. No surprise in his face; no questioning in his voice.

Alice had transferred the camera to her left hand so she could reach out with the right, but Mike was not in the mood for social niceties. She quickly realised this and tried Allan instead.

‘Allan – right?’ she asked.

‘Right,’ Allan said, shaking the proffered hand. No point making an unnecessary enemy, something he tried to communicate to Mike with a look. Mike, however, was concentrating on Alice. She was making a show of perusing the paintings, giving the artist a peck on the cheek as she passed him. ‘So, so talented,’ she murmured. She stroked the cheek she’d just kissed and then turned towards Mike again.

‘Is that thing still on?’ he asked.

‘But pointed floorwards,’ she felt it necessary to say.

‘Still picking up our voices, though,’ Mike shot back. Alice studied him for a couple of seconds, then smiled and switched the camera off. She waved it in front of her face.

‘Call it insurance – our way of making sure we’re all in this together. If Westie gets dumped on at any point, from any height, this ends up at the local CID. You have to appreciate that I’m just looking out for his best interests…’

Allan was wagging a finger at her. ‘I know you,’ he stated quietly. ‘I’ve seen you at the Filmhouse.’

She acknowledged this truth with a twitch of the mouth, but was not to be deflected. Her eyes remained fixed on Mike. ‘Westie says you offered him a cash payment. As you can see, he’s earning every penny. But just now I overheard you trying to squeeze another painting out of him without adding anything to the price. Hardly sounds fair, does it?’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want what’s best for Westie. It sounds insane to me, but he says he’s keen to go along on the raid itself. He’s also getting a painting – one we both happen to like very much, so that’s all right…’

‘I sense a “but”.’

‘But,’ she obliged, ‘something up front would seem to be in order… we were thinking a grand.’

Mike made a show of patting his pockets. ‘I don’t seem to have that sort of cash on me.’

‘You could always write a cheque.’ She paused for effect. ‘But then that would mean us knowing your surname, Mr Mike.’ Her smile was full of mischief, the tip of her tongue rubbing itself against her top lip. Mike’s face had hardened and he’d slipped his hands into his pockets. Allan sensed the right hand curl into a fist, and he was grateful the guns had not yet been delivered. When his friend spoke, it was in an ominous monotone.

‘I can get you the money, but I’ll need something in exchange.’

‘This?’ Alice guessed, waving the camera. Mike nodded slowly. ‘It’s a nice piece of kit,’ she teased, pretending to examine it. ‘Not sure I could bear to part with it.’

‘For five hundred pounds, I think you can.’

‘A grand,’ she corrected him. Mike had his hand stretched out, palm upwards. ‘You want it now?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Before we’ve even seen the colour of your money?’

‘Can’t leave it with you, Alice.’ Mike’s voice still lacked all emotion. ‘You could copy the footage, download it – anything.’

‘But handing it over would mean trusting you.’

‘Then make your decision.’ Mike was brushing something invisible from his tailored jacket. ‘Just so long as you know – you’re part of this now, and that means all our futures are linked.’

‘Like worry beads,’ Alice offered.

‘Or dominoes – only takes one to fall the wrong way…’

Her smile was more expansive this time. The camera was placed in Mike’s waiting palm.

‘One goes, they all go,’ Alice was saying.

‘That’s right.’ Mike slipped the camera into his pocket, and although his eyes were still boring into Alice’s, Allan couldn’t help thinking that the whole exchange could just as easily have been aimed at him.

13

‘Your boss,’ Detective Inspector Ransome said, ‘is getting good at losing us.’

He was seated in a coffee shop on the High Street, just up from the Parliament building, talking into his mobile phone. The man he was talking to was seated three tables away. They held eye contact and their phones to their faces, but couldn’t risk an actual meeting.

‘That’s because he won’t let me drive,’ Glenn Burns said into the mouthpiece. ‘Or Johnno, come to that.’

‘You think he’s suspicious?’

‘If I thought he was on to me, I’d have packed my passport and fake beard by now.’

‘He’s the one who’ll be going away, Glenn,’ Ransome stated with confidence. ‘Leaving his little empire going begging.’

‘And you just let me take over? How do I know you won’t try shafting me, same as you’re doing to him?’

‘We’ve been through this before, Glenn,’ Ransome said with a grin of reassurance. ‘I will try shafting you – but you’ll be top dog, not just a spear-carrier. And you’ll be wise to me.’

‘Plus you’ll owe me one.’

‘That, too, of course.’ Ransome broke off eye contact long enough to lift the oversized mug of coffee to his lips. The liquid was scalding and tasted mainly of frothed milk.

‘Is that the latte?’ Glenn asked into the phone.

Ransome nodded. ‘What’ve you got?’

‘Hot chocolate with whipped cream.’

‘Sounds disgusting.’ Ransome wiped the foam from his top lip. ‘So what’s your employer up to, Glenn?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Thanks for sharing…’

‘No need to get sarky,’ Glenn said huffily. ‘He’s up to something, though.’

‘You just said he wasn’t.’

‘What I said was, I don’t know what he’s up to.’

‘But there is something?’

Glenn nodded. The door opened with a tinkling of its bell and both men looked round, checking the new arrival, in case it was someone they should avoid. But it was just another young mum pushing a buggy.