‘Tramping about where I’m not meant to with my dainty little feet,’ she said, reminding him of his patronising words the last time he was standing there.

‘I don’t think you can really take the huff with Jasmine,’ said Fallan, ‘considering what you came here to do to the girl.’

‘And what you did to my uncle Jim.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here to have a look at these photos you told me about.’

‘With a silenced Beretta?’

‘She told me people had been shooting at her. It was for her protection.’

‘Aye, I forgot: you’re polis. You’re all about doing the right thing, aren’t you, Detective Inspector McDade?’

‘It’s Detective Sergeant. And I suggest you put the gun down. I realise there’s some dangerous people on your case, but I can help you with that.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Fallan told him. ‘Which is why you’re about to take us on a wee jaunt to the Campsies. See, the thing is, we already know the truth about what you’ve done, so it’s not lies and denials that will stop it being a one-way trip for you.’

‘What will?’ he asked nervously.

They took Jim’s surveillance van. Jasmine went first, told by Fallan to check that the path was clear and to have a look at the car park, making sure McDade hadn’t been followed.

‘It’s just his car out there,’ she reported. ‘A silver Vauxhall Vectra.’

Jasmine got the van open while Fallan escorted McDade to the vehicle and directed him to the driver’s seat. Fallan then took his place on the passenger side and Jasmine climbed into the back.

Fallan dangled the keys for McDade to take, keeping the Beretta pointed at him with his right hand.

‘I know off hand about twenty parts of the body where I can shoot you a couple of times without it seriously impairing your ability to drive,’ he warned.

‘Where are we going?’ McDade asked.

Fallan had explained the choice of vehicle by telling McDade that it seemed ‘appropriate, a wee tribute to absent friends’. In truth, it was because they had already set up a couple of cameras inside, as well as sound-recording equipment tuned to receive signals from the transmitters they were each wearing. They were also both carrying digital voice recorders, and Jasmine had set her phone to audio-memo mode as well, as another backup. They wanted to catch every word and every nuance. It wasn’t just a matter of soliciting an admission, but about getting him to reveal irreparably damaging knowledge, facts only the guilty could know, and the biggest of those would dictate their destination.

‘You’re going to take us to the Ramsays, then to Jim Sharp,’ Fallan told him, as McDade started the engine.

‘I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’