It was worth a try. It was also an ugly night to be sleeping rough. The predicted snow sweeping in from the west had now reached Glasgow. Never going to lie for long, it had nevertheless formed a thin surface of slush underfoot.

The flakes melting on his face, McNab walked on, each step making him wish even harder that he’d turned up on time this morning at the hospital and Harry was now safely ensconced in the comfort of Ellie’s flat.

He fleetingly wondered if Harry might have made it out of Glasgow. Maybe gone home to wherever he’d come from originally. His accent didn’t belong to the city, although he’d adopted a Weegie way of asking for money.

Where had Harry come from?

Fife, Dundee maybe? Plenty of soldier boys were recruited in the Kingdom of Fife. In fact anywhere where poverty or lack of work made joining up a likely proposition.

He caught the underground at Govan and got off at St Enoch’s, retracing his steps of the other night. Approaching House of Fraser’s, his heart leapt a little at the sight of a human bundle on the steps, but it wasn’t Harry, and the girl huddled under a plastic sheet didn’t even try to answer McNab’s questions.

Breaking the habit of a lifetime, McNab dropped some money into her cup.

Walking on, he reached the alleyway at the back of the Rock Cafe, knowing Harry wouldn’t be there, but compelled to look anyway. The scene of the stabbing was just the same, apart from the unbloodied slush melting into the gutter.

He was wasting his time and knew it.

Heading for the front door, McNab went inside. The place was as busy as normal and the bustle of noise and music enveloped him. He knew Ellie wasn’t working tonight, but he went downstairs anyway.

Their plan had been to eat together at his place later, but McNab couldn’t contemplate going back there yet, despite a little voice urging him to do so. Approaching the bar, he ordered a double whisky and a packet of crisps, kidding himself the combination would stave off the hunger.

He didn’t bother to savour the whisky, drinking it down in two swallows. The sudden shock of it on his system was dramatic, aided by an empty stomach.

He ordered another and went to sit near the fire exit.

This time he sat the whisky in front of him. No point in drinking it until the warm glow had dissipated.

‘Hey,’ a voice said, ‘you looking for Ellie? She’s not in tonight.’

McNab, recognizing the waiter from his earlier visit, said, ‘I know, thanks.’

Sitting there, he replayed his previous visit, watching it rerun before him. Taking Ellie into the corridor. Kissing her to make up for whatever mistake he’d made or was yet to make. Then following Stevenson outside.