The fair-haired man’s mouth pushed against his ear. ‘We know how much you wanted this gig,’ he hissed, his accent now in full Glaswegian flow. ‘And why. So, boy, just in case you haven’t got this yet, we let you have it. Because we’re on the same side, aren’t we? And don’t you ever fucking forget it.’ A knee crashed into Patrick’s groin; he buckled, silent tears of pain clouding his vision. The two men sauntered off, one of them softly singing the chorus of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’. Patrick raised the key to the front door lock. He was shaking so violently that it was only on the eighth attempt that he managed to slot it in. He crawled up the staircase, hesitantly turned the Yale into his flat and collapsed onto a sofa.

Slowly, he felt his brain cells getting back to work. Until Morahan had given Sara the files, the jeopardy seemed to have been avoided – there were no sides. Now, with the intervention of his source – whoever that might be – and Morahan’s recruitment of Sara, there were signs of the situation unravelling. And if two sides did emerge – as his visitors were clearly anticipating – he’d have to decide which one he was on.

Sara took her case and a meagre tray of food upstairs to her room. Her phone pinged. It was a message from Morahan. What… why…?

Found something extremely significant which, if at all possible, I’d like to discuss face to face ahead of the morning. Can you be here in an hour? Morahan

A range of thoughts bombarded her; one she felt disgust with herself for imagining. No, he was not that sort of man; her suspicions of Rayah had been misjudged. He might show fondness, but that would be it. She suspected, despite an unexpected onset of fatigue, that sheer curiosity would end up rendering her unable to resist going back in. Still, leave the option open; don’t reply yet.

She sat down, chomped at an apple and, almost by rote, fired up her computer. She checked her emails; there was one from Patrick. ‘Trust you’re now home safe and sound. Was fun and interesting. Not too bad a team, eh? P.’ She was pleased it did not end with ‘x’. Perhaps there was nothing more behind his apparent lack of investigative spirit than a wish for a relaxed life.

She tried to apply herself but her eyes wandered. Morahan’s text hung over her. She checked her watch. 9 p.m. It was too intriguing and, if she hung on until morning, curiosity would only keep her awake. She texted back to say she was on her way.