‘Have you bothered to consider why he may have had his head turned?’ Dan asked, but Katelin only shrugged at this too, so he dropped it. He knew she wasn’t interested in the case against Rose-Ann, her occasional flint-eyed froideur, her tendency to slip into boardroom steeliness. In any case, this situation was as good as over. He’d met Lindsay two weeks ago, the day he travelled from London to Glasgow to see Duncan. She’d been with him in Gordon Street when Dan walked out of the station. Ripped jeans, biker jacket, Levi’s T-shirt, black Cuban heels, great cheekbones, bleach-blonde hair and a bold, unapologetic smile. She was lead guitarist, singer and songwriter for an indie-rock band called Many Minds. Together for ten years but still at the stage where even an ultimately unfulfilled promise of airtime on the radio was almost a cause for celebration. They’d had a drink together in a crowded pub, a shouted conversation over three pints of Tennent’s and a bag of cheese and onion crisps, and Lindsay sat opposite Duncan on a chair, not next to him on the bench, which Dan appreciated because it made the situation a little less odd. Duncan looked thinner, although it was only just over a week since Dan had seen him. His naturally pale complexion seemed almost bruised with fatigue, but there was a febrile energy about him, a kind of fervent light in his eyes. Lindsay chatted, laughed, asked Dan some questions, called Duncan Dunc, but didn’t really notice his evident desire to commune across the sticky wooden tabletop. She looked young and lithe and sexy, and if it hadn’t been totally out of order, Dan would’ve liked to ask her what she was playing at, hanging out with Duncan. When she’d drained her pint, she stood and made her excuses. They’d be wanting to talk about her and they couldn’t do that with her sitting there, she said, and gave a throaty smoker’s laugh, pure Glaswegian. So away she went, sashaying around the busy tables and pausing to light a fag before she’d quite made it out through the door.

‘Christ,’ Duncan said, heaving a sigh, watching until she’d gone.

Dan said nothing; instead he got up and went to the bar. He came back with two more pints, and sat down. ‘Right, Duncan, my lad. Is it all up with Rose-Ann?’

Duncan stared. ‘What kind of question’s that? I’m in love with Lindsay!’

‘I can see that, pal. I just wondered if she feels the same? Lindsay, I mean.’

Duncan didn’t answer, although he seemed to ponder the question, but then all he said was, ‘So, what do you think of her?’

‘I like her,’ Dan said without hesitation. ‘But how’s it going to pan out?’

‘Pan out?’

‘Yeah.’

‘As in …?’

‘As in, pan out.’