“Fine,” she said. “What I suggest we do is this. I think we should go round to his flat now, while there’s still a chance that he’ll be there. Initially, I want you to wait in the car while I see exactly what the score is. I suspect he’ll want money in exchange for your things, since they could earn him a fair amount if he goes to the papers. Once I’ve persuaded him we can do a deal, I’ll bring you in to negotiate the nuts and bolts. Then we’ll take it from there. How much money have you got on you?”

Harry looked confused and pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket. He took a quick look inside and said, “About £50.”

Lindsay shook her head. “That’s not going to be nearly enough. Have you got any cash cards?”

Harry nodded reluctantly. “I’ve got a couple of those gold cards that let you draw £500 at a time.”

“Let’s hope that’ll be enough,” Lindsay said.

Harry looked dismayed. “You mean he might want more than £1,000?”

“Harry, if I had what he’s got in his possession, and if you weren’t Ros’s brother, I could be ten grand richer by teatime. Get away with £1,000 and you’ll be doing very well. Now, when you’ve finished tucking in, I think we should get round to Springburn.”

As she followed Ostler’s directions, Lindsay broke the edgy silence in the car. “By the way Harry, did you know Alison Maxwell?”

He frowned as if trying to recall where he’d heard the name. “Maxwell? Oh yes, the woman who was murdered in Caird House. No, we’d never met.”

His response seemed so natural that Lindsay was tempted to believe him. Then she remembered the necessity for all politicians, especially the ones with skeletons in the closet, to learn how to lie expertly, and reserved judgment. If there was a connection between Harry and Alison, straight questioning wasn’t going to bring it to light.

She pulled up outside a three-story detached Victorian house slotted incongruously among blocks of council flats. Its gray stucco was peeling off, giving the building a scabby, down-at-heel look. The door, once painted royal blue, was now overlaid with a layer of city grime. Leaving Harry in the car, Lindsay walked up the path and studied the house. Most of the curtains were closed, but a few were drawn back to provide unappetizing glimpses of typical bed-sit land. On the door jamb were a dozen bell pushes, only a few of which had names scrawled on their labels. Lindsay scrutinized them carefully, but the name McNaught was nowhere to be seen. Undeterred, she pressed the bell marked Flat 1. There was no response, so she worked her way methodically down the bells. Eventually, Flat 5 produced a response.