‘You mean like Dreamcast?’ She looked blank. ‘It’s Sony,’ the assistant clarified.

‘I mean games where there’s someone in charge, and they contact you by e-mail, set you challenges.’

‘Role-playing.’ One of the schoolboys nodded, looking to the others for confirmation.

‘Have you ever played one?’ Siobhan asked him.

‘No,’ he admitted. None of them had.

‘There’s a games shop about halfway down Leith Walk,’ the assistant said. ‘It’s D & D but they might be able to help.’

‘D & D?’

‘Sword and sorcery, dungeons and dragons.’

‘Does this shop have a name?’ Siobhan asked.

‘Gandalf’s,’ they chorused.

*

Gandalf’s was a piece of narrow frontage squeezed unpromisingly between a tattoo parlour and a chip shop. Even less promisingly, its filthy window was covered with a metal grille held in place with padlocks. But when she tried the door, it opened, setting off a set of wind chimes hanging just inside. Gandalf’s had obviously been something else – maybe a second-hand bookshop – and a change of use hadn’t been accompanied by any sort of makeover. The shelves held an assortment of board games and playing pieces – the pieces themselves looking like unpainted toy soldiers. Posters on the walls depicted cartoon Armageddons. There were instruction books, their edges curling, and in the centre of the room four chairs and a foldaway table, on which sat a playing-board. There was no sales counter and no till. A door at the back of the shop creaked open and a man in his early fifties appeared. He had a grey beard and ponytail, and a distended stomach clad in a Grateful Dead T-shirt.

‘You look official,’ he said glumly.

‘CID,’ Siobhan said, showing him her warrant card.

‘Rent’s only eight weeks late,’ he grumbled. As he shuffled towards the board, she saw that he was wearing leather open-toed sandals. Like their owner, they had a good few miles on them. He was studying the placement of pieces on the board. ‘You move anything?’ he asked suddenly.

‘No.’

‘You sure?’

‘Sure.’

He smiled. ‘Then Anthony’s fucked, pardon my French.’ He looked at his watch. ‘They’ll be here in an hour.’

‘Who’s they?’

‘The gamers. I had to shut up shop last night before they had a chance to finish. Anthony must’ve been flustered, trying to finish Will off.’

Siobhan looked at the board. She couldn’t see any grand design to the way the playing pieces were arranged. The beardie-weirdie tapped the cards laid out beside the board.

‘These are what matters,’ he said irritably.

‘Oh,’ Siobhan said. ‘Afraid I’m no expert.’

‘You wouldn’t be.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing, I’m sure.’

But she was pretty sure she knew what he meant. This was a private club, males only, and every bit as exclusive as any other bastion.