I laughed, quietly. "Nah. All that communing with my peaceful side's done me good. I only hit him once, and not very hard at that."

"So what did he want?"

"He only wanted to say hello. He came a long way to do it, and had a funny way of working up to it, but he got to it eventually."

"You sure that's it?"

"Absolutely. We won't see him again."

He looked at me for a while, then grinned. "Thanks for helping me out this afternoon. I was having trouble until you came up with that suggestion. You got any more tips for the bedroom scene with the lady detective sergeant?"

"Yeah. All the time, as she's getting her togs off, keep a picture of Tony Blair in your mind. No way can you think of him and still get a hard-on."

Liam laughed out loud. A quartet of women, who'd recognised us when we came in, looked back in our direction. "That's quite an occupational hazard, when you think about it. In my game, you worry about your knees, or your back, or springing a rib cartilage. It's odd to think of getting a boner as a workplace accident."

"Don't worry about it," I said, leaning back in my chair so the women across the restaurant could hear. "Like I said, there's the stuff they put in your tea as well. It hardly has any after-effects."

He gasped, and held the pose .. . long enough for the girls at the other table to latch on to his surprise. A natural actor, indeed.

We got talking to them after that; it turned out that they were a hen party, from the Standard Life office in Lothian Road. One of them, a pretty brunette called Serena, was being married on the following Saturday. Funnily enough, she was the one who made the biggest eyes at Liam ... so, why should women be any different from men? A

couple of years before, he'd have been right in there, but since he found his air stewardess, he's flown straight as an arrow.

The taxi that picked us up was one of the ordinary black kind ... or it would have been if it hadn't been painted like a mobile phone. It dropped us back at the Mound at around eleven thirty. There's a pub beside the door to the apartment block. We thought about going in, but were hit by a double blast of self-discipline, being due on set at eight-thirty next morning. Plus, I reckoned that if I had any more to drink I might start to think of Dylan again, and I didn't want to do that.

So instead, we went straight up to the penthouse, where I got myself a bottle of still water from the fridge and headed straight for bed, I was almost ready to crash, when my eye was caught by something on the dressing table. At first I thought it was a postcard, or a piece of junk mail.. . that stuff gets everywhere .. . until I realised it was Susie's menu, the one she'd had signed the night before by everyone at the table, bar me.

"Daft bat." I smiled as I picked it up. "Forget your head next." I glanced at the signatures on the white card. "Miles Grayson', clear and confident; "Dawn Phillips', scrawled and spidery, but legible; "Margaret Capperauld', traditional primary-school style, joined-up writing; "Liam Matthews', as quirky and flamboyant as the man himself; and one other.

I couldn't read it; not a snowball's chance in hell of that. It didn't look like a signature at all; more like an ECG printout. It was more than familiar, though; it was an exact match of the unidentified scrawl in Anna Chin's notebook. And now, by a simple process of elimination, I knew that it was the autograph of Ewan Capperauld.

All of a sudden I wasn't tired any more. All of a sudden I didn't care what time it was. I grabbed the bedside telephone, found Ricky Ross's home number from his business card, and called him.

"Oz," he moaned. He sounded slightly breathless. "Do you know what fucking .. ."

"No, but I can guess who. This is your lucky bastard calling. I need to see you, now."

"So come out to my place."

"I've had a drink; you come here. And bring Anna's autograph book with you."

"But what about Alison? I can't leave her."

"Bring her. There's a fair chance we might need her anyway."

Fifty-One.

My urgency must have got through to Ricky. I had expected him to take half an hour to get to me, but the entry buzzer sounded in just over fifteen minutes.

He stepped out of the lift, wearing jeans and a heavy sweater and needing a shave. Alison followed behind, dressed almost identically to him; she was completely without make-up and her hair was pulled back in a pony-tail.

I led them through to the kitchen. Liam was asleep directly off the living area, and I didn't want to disturb him.

"So why the alarm call?" said Ross, tersely, as I poured two mugs of coffee from the filter jug. Susie's menu card was lying on the work-surface. I picked it up and handed it to him. He looked at it, then his eye hit on the cardiac squiggle.

"Jesus," he murmured. "Whose?"

"Ewan Capperauld."

"What!" The word came out in an astonished half-shout. I worried that it might waken Liam, and signalled him to be quiet. "But Capperauld's never been to the Torrent building," he said.

"In that case he's the only person in Anna's book who hasn't. That's remarkable, isn't it? But she told me that was where she'd collected all her autographs, so he must have been. Yet James Torrent clearly didn't know it. He told me so himself, almost in so many words. "It would be good to have someone as eminent as Ewan Capperauld visit this building." That's what he said to me, when I saw him in his office." I turned to Alison. "Did he ever say or imply to you that Capperauld had been there?"

"No," she replied. "The opposite in fact; he told me that he wanted every eminent Scot to visit his new headquarters, and that Ewan was at the top of that list."

I nodded. "And yet when I saw him there, he wasn't all that bothered.

Something happened between him giving you that instruction and my visiting him, to make him change his mind, or at least go soft on the idea."

"Something," said Ricky. "Like what?"

"Like maybe he found out that Capperauld had already been to his building."

"It's a pity we can't ask him."

"Or Anna," I added. "But there's someone we can ask."

"Who?"

"Come on; waken up. Ewan himself."

Ross looked at me as if he had a wrestling hold on something in his brain. "Easier said than done. Capperauld's a big name; he's also Miles Grayson's star attraction, and Miles is my client. I can't just go interrogating him."

"Okay, I'll do it. Call his minder and have him brought here."

"Are you crazy? Talk to him in the morning, if you must."

"Have you got that much time, Ricky? Has Alison?"

"I'll take that chance."

"Nice of you to take it for Alison."

He glared at me but said nothing.

We had been drinking our coffee in silence for almost five minutes when the mobile in Ross's pocket sounded. He scowled and answered the call.

I wouldn't have thought his face could have got any grimmer, but as he spoke, it did. "You're kidding," I heard him snap. "How would I?" He flashed gimlet eyes in my direction. "Do your own fucking job, son!"

he growled into the phone at last, and jabbed the red button to end the call.