“Of course,” said Lindsay, “I only include you and Paddy for the sake of seeming objective.”

Cordelia smiled wanly. “Thanks for your confidence. Don’t think I don’t feel the cold wind at my neck. If Paddy weren’t such a convenient choice, they’d be looking very hard at me. So are you suggesting that these are the people we should concentrate on?”

“They’re our only starters so far. But enough of this, we’re going round in circles. We can’t actually get any further till we’ve spoken to the people concerned. And one thing I’ve learned from newspapers is that when you can’t get any further, you go for a drink. We could nip down to my local and have one or two before closing time. It’s only five minutes’ walk. There’s usually a couple of my mates in there. Fancy doing that?”

Cordelia looked doubtful. “I’d be just as happy staying here with you. I’m not one for pubbing it, normally. But if you really want to . . .”

Lindsay looked at her suspiciously. “You’re doing the ‘English fear of the Scots drinking’ number, aren’t you? What you’re really saying is that if this was some bijou wine bar with a rather nice house Muscadet, that would be okay, but some wild Glasgow spit and sawdust bar is really not what you have in mind—am I right?” She grinned to take the sting out of her mockery.

Cordelia had the grace to look sheepish. “All right, all right. I’ll come to the pub. But I’m warning you now, the first drunk that accosts me with, ‘See you, Jimmy’ and I’m off.”

When they walked into the Earl of Moray Tavern, Cordelia felt all her worst fears had been realized. The floor was bare vinyl, the furnishings in the vast barn of a room were rickety in the extreme, and had clearly never been much better. There was not another woman in sight, apart from the calendar girl on the wall. But Lindsay walked confidently through the bar, greeting several of the men at the counter, leaving Cordelia with no option but to follow. Let this be her baptism of fire, thought Lindsay grimly. At the far end of the bar, they went through a glass-paneled door into another world. The lounge bar was cozy, carpeted, and comfortable. Lindsay piloted Cordelia to a table where a blonde woman in her early thirties was staring glumly at the last inch of a pint of lager. She looked up and smiled at Lindsay. “I’d given up hope of seeing you tonight,” she greeted her. “Everybody’s either out of town or washing their hair or on the wagon.”

“Would I let you down?” Lindsay retorted.

“Not if there was drink involved. Who’s your friend, then?”