‘And that’s all he’s here for?’

The guy, having given a non-committal shrug, made off, which caused McNab to suspect that Stevenson was there to deal, or more likely pick up his local dealer’s takings. This was the problem with being a policeman and trying to have a night out in Glasgow. The underworld couldn’t just pass him by.

McNab toyed with his food, knowing that he was eventually heading over there, whether he thought it wise or not.

What was he planning to do? Request a game of pool?

He checked on Ellie again, as though she was the anchor, holding him in his seat. In half an hour they would go home together and play whatever game she chose. The thought stirred him, and he could smell again the scent of her when they’d embraced earlier.

But still the gremlin on his shoulder urged him on.

McNab pushed aside the partially eaten meal.

Fuck it.

As he rose, he realized Stevenson’s eyes were upon him and had probably been so for a while. A smile was playing at the corner of his mouth as he waited to see what McNab would do next.

McNab had nothing to accuse him of. Nothing at all. So why approach?

‘You leaving, pal?’ a voice said at his ear.

A couple who’d obviously hankered after his table had now presented themselves right in front of McNab.

‘Sure thing,’ McNab said and sidestepped them, only to spot Stevenson making for the corridor he and Ellie had visited earlier.

So he’s heading out. I wonder why?

If the bastard was running, then he was in possession of something he thought McNab might be interested in.

The crowd round the bar had suddenly multiplied with the arrival of half a dozen biker-clad males, hampering McNab’s ability to thread his way through. His bludgeoning attempts pissed a few folk off and the last thing he saw was Ellie’s exasperated look.

By the time he reached the corridor it was empty, the fire door swinging open. Swearing his annoyance, he went for a look outside, knowing he was likely too late.

The rain was still falling, pinging off the empty metal beer barrels against the back wall. A yellow street light found the alley deserted except for himself and . . .

McNab stepped out onto the cobbled back lane. Ahead of him, a hot-air vent under an overhang was providing a warm, dry place of refuge for a rough sleeper. Approaching, McNab noted that the slumped figure looked like the guy from the steps at House of Fraser.

McNab prodded him with his foot. ‘Did you see a blond guy pass this way? He had a tattoo on his forehead?’

With cocaine, amphetamines or marijuana, the eyes usually got very large. McNab had seen mydriasis last for days. Heroin, an opiate, was different. That caused miosis – pinprick pupils.