In each case, Grant felt able to answer in the affirmative. He made sure he jotted down the details of each journalist, with contact numbers and even a note of the time difference.

‘No point me sending you faxes in the middle of the night,’ he’d told one news editor in New Zealand.

‘I’d prefer an e-mail, mate.’

So Grant had taken those details down, too. It struck him that he needed to get his laptop back from Siobhan. Either that or invest in something more up-to-date. The case could use its own website. He’d send a memo to Carswell, copy to Templer: stating his case.

If he ever got the time …

Siobhan and his laptop: he hadn’t thought of her in a couple of days. His ‘crush’ on her hadn’t lasted long. Just as well they hadn’t taken things any further really: his new job would have driven a wedge between them. He knew they could play down that kiss, until it would seem as if it had never happened. Rebus was the only witness, but if the pair of them denied it, called him a liar, he’d start forgetting, too.

Only two things Grant felt sure of now: that he wanted Liaison permanently, and that he was good at it.

He celebrated with the day’s sixth cup of coffee, nodding to strangers in the corridors and on the stairwell. They seemed to know who he was, wanting both to know him and be known by him. His phone was ringing again when he pushed open his door – the office was small, no bigger than the cupboards in some stations, and there was no natural light. Still, it was his fiefdom. He leaned back in his chair, taking the receiver with him.

‘DC Hood.’

‘You sound happy.’

‘Who is this, please?’

‘It’s Steve Holly. Remember me?’

‘Sure, Steve, what can I do for you?’ But the tone was immediately more professional.

‘Well … Grant.’ Holly managed to get a sneer into the word. ‘I was just after a quote to go with a piece I’m running.’

‘Yes?’ Grant leaned forward a little in his chair, not quite so comfortable now.

‘Women going missing all over Scotland … dolls found at the scene … games on the Internet … students dead on hillsides. Any of it ring a bell?’

Grant thought he’d squeeze the life out of the receiver. The desk, the walls … they’d all gone hazy. He closed his eyes, tried to shake his head clear.

‘Case like this, Steve,’ he said, attempting levity, ‘a reporter will hear all kinds of stuff.’

‘Believe you solved some of the Internet clues yourself, Grant. What do you reckon? Got to be connected to the murder, haven’t they?’