Ian Rankin

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SYNOPSIS 'The interview rooms at St Leonard's are quite cosy actually,' Hynds informed the artist. Then he made a show of studying his watch. 'Of course, this time of day . . . it's going to take us a while to get through the traffic.' 'And back again afterwards,' Siobhan added. 'Plus the waiting time if a room's not available . . .' She smiled at the solicitor. 'Still, makes things nice and formal, just the way you want them.' Neilson held up a hand. 'Just a minute, please.' He was leading the solicitor out into the hallway. Siobhan turned to Hynds and beamed. 'One—nil to us,' she said. 'But is the referee ready to blow?' She shrugged a reply, slid her hands into her jacket pockets. She'd seen messier rooms; couldn't help wondering if it were part of an act - the eccentric artist.