They’d reached the corridor that led to the fire escape. Coming to an abrupt halt, McNab gathered Ellie in his arms and kissed her.

Eventually he let her come up for air.

‘What was that all about?’ she said, a smile playing on her lips.

‘When do you finish?’ McNab said.

‘Eleven.’

Her voice, he thought, sounded a little husky.

‘Then I’ll wait.’

‘But . . .’

‘And take you home, and we’ll get to know one another a little better.’ He bent towards her again, catching her bottom lip lightly. ‘You can even ink me in a place of your choosing,’ he offered.

She smiled. ‘You’re talking about the snake? The long curling one that winds itself round your—’

McNab put his hand over her mouth. ‘If that’s what it takes, then yes.’

Ellie laughed and he knew that he’d won her back, for the moment at least.

Ten minutes later, sitting at a table with a very good view of Ellie, awaiting his burger and curly fries, McNab had decided his evening was turning out better than expected. That was until he spied a face he recognized near the pool table.

One of the problems in his line of work was how many scumbags you encountered and, even worse, how many you remembered. McNab wasn’t a super recognizer like his mate Ollie in IT. He couldn’t pick out folk he’d arrested from CCTV recordings, especially when they were hooded, with only a partial view of their face on offer. But McNab didn’t need Ollie tonight to tell him that the guy waiting his turn at pool was none other than one Malcolm Stevenson, a suspected major player in the Sandman case, whose mugshot had taken pride of place in the incident room earlier.

The clientele at the Rock Cafe were a mixed bunch, the common factor being atmosphere, a love of rock music, decent food and drink. It was popular, especially with folk heading for the nearby music venues, but McNab wouldn’t have placed it on Wee Malky’s radar.

Yet here he was.

As McNab contemplated this, a guy deposited a plate of burger and curly fries in front of him.

‘That bloke with the forehead tattoo at the pool table and the flashy ring,’ McNab asked him. ‘Is he a regular in here?’

The guy glanced surreptitiously at the said Malky. ‘Why? D’you know him?’

‘Do I want to?’ McNab countered.

The young man was studying McNab more closely now. ‘You’re Ellie’s . . .’ He hesitated, wondering what to call him.

‘Bodyguard?’ McNab offered.

A swift glance from both of them found Ellie more than holding her own at the bar.

‘I don’t think she needs one,’ he told McNab with an attempt at a joke.

‘But might she need one to protect her from him?’ McNab waved his fork in the direction of Stevenson.

‘He comes in sometimes to play pool,’ he offered grudgingly.