‘This was inside the plastic wallet next to a “twenty years on” feature from 2003. It’s William Bain’s contact details.’

Jasmine didn’t see the significance.

‘Yeah. Anne Ramsay went to see him once. He didn’t have anything to tell her. What about it?’

‘His home phone number is on your list.’

Ingrams gestured to the back seat, where she had left the handwritten sheet detailing the office phone’s incoming and outgoing calls.

‘Jim must have spoken to him recently,’ he said.

‘Probably just retracing the initial investigation in order to be thorough. He’s not going to suddenly remember something crucial after twenty-seven years.’

‘And yet Jim said he’d have news. Call him. Tell him you’re a reporter. Set up an interview.’

Jasmine got out her mobile and dialled the number.

‘Don’t tell him your real name,’ Ingrams added, as it began to ring at the other end.

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s Sharp.’

‘Oh, of course,’ she realised.

She didn’t have time to be embarrassed, as a gravelly older male voice came on and offered a curious ‘Hello?’

‘Eh, Mr Bain? My name is Sharon James, I’m with the Evening Times,’ she added, hoping she’d remembered correctly that it was the Record who had already run a recent story. ‘I’m doing a piece on the Ramsay family disappearance, and—’

‘Two hundred,’ he interrupted gruffly.

Jasmine glanced at Ingrams and remembered how irritating people could find it when you kept asking them about something they knew little or nothing about. Bain must have become mightily pissed off over the years at receiving precisely this kind of enquiry. She doubted this was actually the two hundredth similar request, but she could understand why he had adopted such a posturing tone.

Then he made her feel like a rube with the clarifying addition of one single word.

‘Cash.’

‘Two hundred … pounds?’

‘I’ve been over this for you people time and again for twenty-seven year. It’s about time yous made it worth my while.’

‘Ehm … if you hold on, I’m just going to have to run this past my editor.’

She muted the phone and was about to explain to Ingrams, but he was way ahead.

‘Tell him one fifty; two hundred if he agrees to a photo.’

‘I don’t have two hundred pounds.’

‘Have you got a camera?’

‘There’s lots back at the office.’

‘Then let me worry about the money.’

Played

Despite the size of the drugs seizure, Maraidh Morgan couldn’t complain about her robbery being made a low priority by the police in the twenty-two hours since.

‘In terms of manpower, I’ve never seen such a response to a break-in,’ Zoe Vernon put it, leaning on Catherine’s desk.