‘Didn’t get much sleep last night,’ he said, glancing in Siobhan’s direction. She kept her eyes on the road.

‘Anything in the paper?’

He had the day’s tabloid – bought along with the coffees – open across his lap. ‘Not much.’

‘Anything about the case?’

‘I don’t think so. Relegated to oblivion.’ He had a sudden thought, started patting his pockets.

‘What?’ For a split second, she thought maybe he’d forgotten some vital medication.

‘My mobile. Must’ve left it on the table.’

‘We’ve got mine.’

‘Yes, hooked to my ISP: what happens if someone tries calling?’

‘They’ll leave a message.’

‘I suppose so … Look, about yesterday …’

‘Let’s pretend it never happened,’ she said quickly.

‘But it did.’

‘I just wish it hadn’t, all right?’

‘You’re the one who was always complaining I—’

‘Subject closed, Grant.’ She turned to him. ‘I mean it. It’s either closed, or I take it to the boss – your call.’

He started to say something, but stopped himself, folded his arms across his chest. Virgin AM was playing quietly on the stereo. She liked it; helped her wake up. Grant wanted something newsy, Radio Scotland or Radio Four.

‘My car, my stereo,’ was all she’d said to that.

Now he asked her to repeat what she’d already told him about the Farmer’s call. She did, glad that they were staying off the subject of the clinch.

Grant sipped his coffee while she spoke. He was wearing sunglasses, though there was no sun. They were Ray-Bans, tortoiseshell frames.

‘Sounds good,’ he said when she’d finished.

‘I think so,’ she agreed.

‘Almost too easy.’

She snorted. ‘So easy we almost missed it.’

He shrugged. ‘It didn’t take any skill, that’s what I’m saying. It’s the sort of thing you either know or you don’t.’

‘Like you said, a different kind of clue.’

‘How many Masons do you suppose Philippa Balfour knows?’

‘What?’

‘It’s how you found out. How would she have worked it out?’

‘She was studying art history, wasn’t she?’

‘True. So she might have come across Rosslyn Chapel in her studies?’

‘Possibly.’

‘And would Quizmaster have known that?’

‘How could he?’

‘Maybe she told him what she was studying.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Otherwise, it’s just not the sort of clue she’d have been able to get. Do you see what I’m saying?’

‘I think so. You’re saying it needed specialist knowledge that the previous clues didn’t?’

‘Something like that. Of course, there is one other possibility.’

‘Which is?’

‘That Quizmaster knew damned fine she’d know a little of Rosslyn Chapel, whether she told him what she was studying or not.’

Siobhan saw what he was getting at. ‘Someone who knows her? You’re saying Quizmaster is one of her friends?’

Grant peered at her over the top of his Ray-Bans. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if Ranald Marr turned out to be a Mason, man in his line of work …’

‘No, nor me,’ Siobhan said thoughtfully. ‘We might just have to go back and ask him.’