She smiled and opened her handbag, taking out a small memo pad and a pen. ‘Not a clue,’ she said. And when she had scribbled something on her pad she tore off the top sheet and handed it to him. ‘I take it you are playing detective. And I do so love mysteries. When you have a free evening call me at this number. We can get together and you can tell me all about it.’

Bannerman folded the paper into his top pocket without looking at it. He pushed his hands into his pockets and said, ‘I’ll call you.’

‘Make it soon.’ She turned and walked briskly away towards a black limousine parked further along the line of cars.

Bannerman watched her go and thought he was probably wasting his time. Sally touched his arm and he turned, a little startled. He hadn’t heard her approach. She turned her eyes in the direction of Marie-Ange’s car. ‘Interested?’

Bannerman laughed and shook his head. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Good.’ She looked down, embarrassed. Then, ‘Is seven-thirty all right? For going to see Tania?’

‘Sure. I’ll pick you up.’

‘No, I’ll come to the Rue de Commerce. Around seven.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘By the way, I forgot to give you my key to the flat last night.’

‘Keep it.’ Bannerman looked at his watch, then glanced at Tait still standing impatiently by the car. ‘I have to go.’

‘Who is he?’

‘My editor. I’m not exactly his golden boy at the moment. I’ll see you at seven.’

*

In the car Tait retrieved a folded foolscap envelope from his overnight bag and handed it to Bannerman. ‘I almost forgot,’ he said coldly. ‘The stuff from the library that you wanted on Gryffe.’

Bannerman took it, and looked inside at the photocopied sheets. There were about two dozen of them. Various obituary pieces on Gryffe that had appeared in the important British papers, plus a selection of the cuttings from the Post’s obit file on him. He chucked the envelope into the back seat.

‘You can drop me at the airport,’ Tait said. ‘I’m catching a flight to London. I’ll be back in Glasgow the day after tomorrow. I might require you to put Slater’s kid on a plane. At any rate, I’ll be in touch.’ He lit another cigarette.

Bannerman sat for a few moments then started the car. As he pulled away from the kerb he saw a taxi in his rearview mirror pull out from the line of cars behind him. Even had he noticed the face of the passenger in the back seat he would almost certainly never have recognized it as the one he had passed in the Rue de Commerce the day after the killings. A face he had only glimpsed, without any particular reason that it should have left an impression.