At that moment he caught sight of her behind the bar, holding forth with some guy whose dreams of what might be tonight were about to be smashed. McNab called Ellie’s name as he made his way over, keen to let the one currently chatting her up know he had competition.

The smile Ellie bestowed on McNab made his heart soar. There might yet prove to be a competition where he was sharing first place with some other bloke, but he intended to win Ellie back, and by a long Scots mile.

‘You’re here and on time?’ Ellie said.

McNab’s smile indicated that had never been in doubt. He ordered a non-alcoholic beer, adding that her carriage awaited her outside, when she was ready to go.

‘I have an hour until the end of my shift,’ she told him. ‘You want some food?’

Until that moment, McNab hadn’t realized just how hungry he was.

Seeing his expression, Ellie said, ‘I’ll order your usual. We’ll have to be quick. Kitchen shuts shortly.’

McNab carried his pint to the nearest free table and placed his seat so that he could gaze on Ellie at the bar. Her erstwhile suitor had given up and was now, McNab spotted, working his charm on some other lucky girl.

That image made him think about the other bloke, the one who’d made an impression on Ellie. So much so that she was contemplating having sex with him. Could that bloke be in here now?

He began a sweep of the room, just like the detective he was. No one was in here he recognized. Not like the last time, during the Skye case. He began to relax. He would eat, wait for Ellie, take her home . . . to his place or hers. He would make an impression. A good one, so that her thoughts of striking out elsewhere would diminish. He would do what she wanted . . . become obsessed by her, and not the job.

He might have missed the call, had he not gone to the Gents, where the noise of the music was less loud. He hesitated when he saw the number, knowing it was from work in some capacity, but then again it might be the news that Karen had reached home safely.

McNab answered to find Ollie on the other end.

‘What the fuck, Ollie?’

‘Sorry, but I thought you’d want to know.’

‘Know what?’

‘Eric Jackson. I found him online. He’s a user of child porn. It’s under another name, but it’s definitely him. I’ve been talking to some of my counterparts in Europe. He’s on their list. Probably indulges most when he’s over there on his truck runs. They were very interested to find out we know him.’

‘Jesus . . .’ Another piece of the puzzle edged its way into place. How far back did Jackson’s predilection go? As far as Mary McIntyre?

Robbie, Mary’s brother, hadn’t recognized Eric from the photograph McNab had shown him. So he hadn’t been on Robbie’s radar like the priest and Alec McLaughlin had been. But in McCreadie’s notebooks, Eleanor had told him that Mary chatted to Eric when he came to see her.