‘No.’

‘What then?’

She hesitated; he frowned in concentration. ‘Some new evidence may have come to light …’

‘What new evidence?’

‘Right now, I’m afraid I can’t divulge …’

‘Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t hear every other day. Your lot always want something for nothing.’

‘And your lot don’t?’

He turned away from the window, just in time to catch a green Aston revving away from the lights: not too many about, had to be the grieving father … ‘What’s it got to do with Philippa Balfour?’ he asked.

Silence on the line. ‘Sorry?’

‘That’s not a very good answer, DS Wylie. Last time I saw you, you were attached to the Balfour case. Are you saying they’ve suddenly shifted you on to a case which isn’t even in the Lothian and Borders remit?’

‘I …’

‘You’re probably not at liberty to say, right? Me, on the other hand, I can say whatever I like.’

‘The way you made up that sword-and-sorcery stuff ?’

‘That wasn’t made up. I got it from the parents.’

‘That he liked role-playing, yes, but the idea that it was some game brought him to Scotland … ?’

‘Speculation based on the available evidence.’

‘But there was no evidence of such a game, was there?’

‘Highland mountains, all that Celtic myth rubbish … just the place someone like Jürgen would end up. Sent out on some quest, only there’s a gun waiting for him when he gets there.’

‘Yes, I read your story.’

‘And somehow it ties in with Flip Balfour, but you’re not going to tell me how?’ Holly licked his lips; he was enjoying this.

‘That’s right,’ Wylie said.

‘It must have hurt.’ His voice was almost solicitous.

‘What?’

‘When they pulled you from liaison. Not your fault, was it? We’re like bloody savages at times. They should have prepared you better. Christ, Gill Templer worked liaison for a hundred years … she should have known.’

Another silence on the line. Holly softened his voice. ‘And then they go and give it to a detective constable. DC Grant Hood. A shining example. Now there’s one cocky little bastard if ever I saw one. Like I say, something like that’s got to hurt. And what’s happened to you, DS Wylie? You’re stuck halfway up a Scottish mountain, scrabbling around for a reporter – one of the enemy – to put you right.’

He thought she’d gone, but then heard something which was almost a sigh.

Oh, you’re good, Stevie boy, he thought to himself. You’ll have the right address some day, and works of art on the walls for people to gawp at …

‘Detective Sergeant Wylie?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Sorry if I hit a nerve. But, look, maybe we could meet. I think I might just have a way to help, even if only a little.’

‘What is it?’

‘Face to face?’

‘No.’ The voice hardening. ‘Tell me now.’