Chrissy’s face broke into a grin as McNab approached, although his expression did not match her own. In fact, he didn’t acknowledge them until he’d ordered and received his drink.

‘Whisky,’ Chrissy said as he sampled it. ‘Tough day?’

The icy look McNab threw her made her step back for effect. ‘Wow, that bad?’

‘That bad,’ McNab agreed, pushing his glass over for a refill.

‘Easy, partner,’ Chrissy said. ‘We need the story before you start slurring your words.’

‘Has he gone?’ Rhona said, drawing the conversation back to its obvious target.

‘No. He’s staying over. Back in the morning, apparently.’

Chrissy glanced swiftly at the door. ‘You didn’t bring him here, did you?’

McNab shook his head. ‘No chance, although I did have to eat with him.’

‘So tell all,’ Chrissy demanded.

‘He used to have a girlfriend who lived near you.’ He motioned to Rhona. ‘She dumped him and he’s not been back to Glasgow since.’

‘That’s it?’ Chrissy said accusingly. ‘That’s all you got out of him?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Now we know why you’re so pissed off.’

McNab ignored that and turned to Rhona. ‘How does Go Wild feature in your ghost ship story?’

‘It was me who discovered that,’ Chrissy broke in. ‘Or at least it was Ava who gave me the idea.’

‘Ava who?’ McNab demanded.

‘Ava Clouston, an investigative journalist, home for the moment in Orkney.’ Rhona brought him up to date on what Ava had discovered about the ownership of the MV Orlova.

‘So Go Wild is a lead on both stories.’ He looked at them. ‘In which case, why was Cleverly not interested in it?’

23

‘Are you sure about this, mate?’ The Uber driver gave him a warning look. ‘Gets pretty rough in there, or so I’ve heard.’

‘How long has this place been up and running?’ McNab said.

‘Word is, it was shut for a while. Maybe they went bust or the cops found out. Been back up a couple of weeks. You a punter or a fighter?’

‘Neither. Just fancied a look,’ McNab told him as he exited the vehicle.

‘Your funeral.’

Chrissy’s earlier question as to why Cleverly had seemed so disinterested in the Go Wild connection had fired up his own interest again. Why was the bastard set on ignoring it? So he’d returned to his original plan and made a swift departure from the jazz club before he drank too much whisky, heading back to the boarded-up offices.

This time the back entrance was occupied by a wee gang of teenagers in the thirteen-to-fifteen age group sharing a couple of bottles of vodka.

Their initial reaction when he’d appeared had been one of bravado. Things changed when he’d flashed his badge and asked for their names and ages. He could have confiscated the bottles but, deciding that was too much hassle, he’d just ordered them to scram, which they did.