Bain smiled. He had the briefcase with him again; still hadn’t opened it. After the meal on Friday night they’d said their goodbyes. Siobhan had got into her car Saturday morning and headed north for the football. Didn’t bother offering anyone a lift: she’d packed an overnight bag. Found herself a guest house. Good win for Hibs in the afternoon, then a bit of exploring and a spot of dinner. She’d taken her Walkman, half a dozen tapes and a couple of paperbacks with her, leaving the laptop back in her flat. A weekend without Quizmaster: just what the doctor ordered. Except that she couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering if there was a message for her. She’d made sure she was late getting back Sunday night, then busied herself with laundry.

Now the laptop sat on her desk. She was almost afraid to touch it, afraid to give in to the craving …

‘Good weekend?’ Bain asked.

‘Not bad. How about you?’

‘Quiet. That dinner on Friday was just about the highlight.’

She smiled, accepting the compliment. ‘So what do we do now? Get on the blower to Special Branch?’

‘We talk to the Crime Squad. They route our request.’

‘We can’t cut out the middle-man?’

‘The middle-man wouldn’t like that.’

Siobhan thought of Claverhouse: Bain was probably right. ‘Go ahead then,’ she said.

So Bain picked up the phone and had a long conversation with DI Claverhouse at the Big House. Siobhan ran her fingers over the laptop’s keyboard. It was already connected to her mobile. A phone message had been waiting for her at home on Friday night: her mobile account, wondering if she knew that her usage had suddenly gone up. Yes, she knew all right. With Bain still busy explaining things to Claverhouse, she decided to connect to the Net, just to give her something to do …

There were three messages from Quizmaster. The first was from Friday evening, around the time she got home:

Seeker – My patience wears thin. The quest is about to close on you. Immediate response requested.

The second was from Saturday afternoon:

Siobhan? I’m disappointed in you. Your times so far have been excellent. Game is now closed.

Closed or not, he’d come back on Sunday at the stroke of midnight:

Are you busy tracing me, is that it? Do you still want to meet?

Bain ended his conversation and put down the phone. He was staring at the screen.

‘You’ve got him rattled,’ he said.

‘New ISP?’ Siobhan asked. Bain checked the headers and nodded.

‘New name, new everything. Still, he’s getting the inkling that he’s not untraceable.’

‘Then why doesn’t he just shut down?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You really think the game’s closed?’

‘Only one way to find out …’

So Siobhan got busy on the keyboard:

I was away all weekend, that’s all. Inquiries progress. Meantime, yes, I’d still like to meet.

She sent the message. They went and grabbed coffee, but when they came back there was no reply.