‘I found the lane,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t found the jazz club yet.’

‘It’s right at the end and down the stairs, but it doesn’t serve food and I’m starving. Have you eaten?’

‘Not yet,’ Ava said.

‘Do you like curry? It’s a big Glasgow favourite.’

‘Great. Lead me there.’

At that point McNab appeared.

‘McNab is going to join us,’ Rhona said.

Ava checked him out, then held out her hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you from Chrissy,’ she said. ‘All of it good.’

‘And I’ve heard all about you from Rhona. So we’re even.’ McNab even managed a smile.

Introductions over, they walked the few yards past the evening crowds to Ashoka.

‘You’re not familiar with Glasgow?’ McNab asked on the way.

‘I did my degree in Aberdeen, then headed to London. And from there to anywhere there was a story worth investigating.’

‘So none in Glasgow?’ McNab said.

‘None until now.’

The first flurry over, they settled down to their meal with little more than chit-chat involved. McNab became the friendly, funny version of himself. The one women in general enjoyed. Telling Ava the story of his time on Sanday, and how an irate group of locals had tossed him over the wall at the Kettletoft Hotel and into the North Sea.

‘That’s terrible,’ Ava said laughingly. ‘I apologize for my fellow islanders.’ She indicated McNab’s injuries. ‘You didn’t get these in Orkney too, I hope?’

‘No. These were inflicted locally,’ McNab said, his voice more serious now.

Rhona waited, knowing this was the moment when the real reason for the stopover was likely to be revealed.

Eventually Ava said, ‘My colleague, Mark Sylvester, who’s working the Go Wild story along with me, turned up at my London flat today looking very much like you do. He didn’t explain what had happened either. Although I’m pretty sure it was linked to the Go Wild investigation.’ She paused, her face serious.

‘That’s why you wanted to meet with me?’ Rhona said.

Ava nodded. ‘Mark asked me to locate a contact at Police Scotland in order to pass on a message.’

‘What message?’ McNab demanded.

‘The Met sent up a detective for the post-mortem on the fire victim—’

‘How d’you know about that?’ McNab interrupted her.

Ava ignored the question. ‘Mark’s message was that DI Cleverly can’t be trusted.’

A moment’s silence followed, before McNab laughed out loud. ‘Jesus. Tell me something I don’t know.’

At the arrival of the waiter with the coffee, they fell silent, although Rhona could almost hear McNab’s brain working. Until now, his distrust of Cleverly could have been construed as personal. If suspicion was being levelled at the police officer from another quarter, albeit an investigative journalist, maybe it improved his argument.

‘What does this Mark have on Cleverly?’ McNab demanded.