Bannerman watched him impassively. ‘So what did you really hope to achieve by tipping off Jansen about Slater’s file?’

Palin couldn’t bring himself to turn and face his accuser. His voice was drawn thin by anxiety. ‘I thought . . . I thought he might pay for the information.’

‘And did he?’

‘Not exactly. He said he would need proof. That he would get in touch when he had it.’

‘And you agreed?’ Bannerman could hardly believe that Palin could have been so stupid. The man, or what was left of him, returned to his desk and picked up his flask. He took a long draught, and a little of its liquor crept out at the corner of his mouth to run down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

‘What you said yesterday . . . about my appointment here being short-term. You were a damn sight closer to the truth than you thought.’ He paused. ‘I . . . I’ve been recalled.’ And he almost choked on his words. ‘Next month. New position. Second man on the night news desk. After all these years, put out to pasture. To sit like some stookie through the early hours. Deskbound. Paperwork. A glorified nothing. A has-been with a title. And Glasgow? I don’t want to go back to Glasgow. To some shabby bedsitter reeking of damp and stale cooking. I’d rather die. When you’ve been on the road all your life . . .’ He looked at Bannerman very directly, accusation now in his eyes. ‘Someday you’ll know it, too. When they don’t want you any more, and they stick you somewhere out of sight and wait for you to retire. Or die.’ His mouth twisted in a bitter little smile. ‘Only consolation I can think of . . . that some day even smart bastards like you will get put out to grass.’

The alcohol was fuelling a revival of his aggression, the flask empty now. He opened a drawer and drew out an unopened bottle of whisky, twisting off the cap to thrust the neck of it to his lips. He sucked freely, all restraint vanishing.

‘Yeah, even bastards like you.’ He was swaying a little now, and Bannerman guessed there must have been another session earlier in the day. Palin looked at him. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell everyone.’

Bannerman sighed and stood up. ‘No, I’m not going to tell a soul, Palin. You’re not worth the trouble. But maybe Jansen will think that you are. Maybe he’ll send someone looking for you, like he sent someone up here last night.’

Fear blackened Palin’s eyes. ‘He wouldn’t . . . I don’t even know anything.’