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‘He’s got a funny name as his email address. Doc-P.’ She put her phone on loudspeaker and keyed in the mobile number.
    â€˜Who is this?’
    Iona could immediately tell he was local; probably from the southern part of the city. She allowed some of the same accent to seep into her voice. ‘Hello, this is Detective Khan. Who am I speaking to, please?’
    â€˜Police?’
    â€˜Yes, I work with the Counter Terrorism Unit. You spoke to a colleague about an individual who joined the Sub-Urban Explorers. My colleague passed that information to me.’
    â€˜Counter what?’
    â€˜Terrorism Unit.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    Iona caught the hesitancy in the man’s voice. He was now obviously feeling intimidated. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said reassuringly. ‘I’m only involved because this person appears to have been using a false identity. Something we’re currently obliged to check out in cases of foreign nationals.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜Can we meet . . . sorry, I feel funny calling you Doc-P. Got a first name?’
    â€˜Yeah, Toby.’
    â€˜Can we meet, Toby? I’d like to get some more details from the people you . . . represent.’
    â€˜They need an assurance, first. That nothing they tell you will be used against them.’
    â€˜See what I mean?’ Ritter whispered.
    She rolled her eyes at the sergeant. ‘You have my word. My questions will only relate to the individual who was using the name Muttiah. What you guys get up to in your own time is of absolutely no concern to me.’
    â€˜And it will be just you?’
    â€˜Yes, if that’s what you want.’
    â€˜It is.’
    â€˜Then it will be.’
    There was a pause. ‘OK. We can meet in town this evening.’
    Iona thought about her plans to have tea over at her mum and dad’s. A Khan tradition on a Friday evening. Oh, well, not this week. ‘Great. Will the Sub-Urban Explorers be there?’
    â€˜Not at the initial place we meet.’
    She rubbed a finger across her forehead, keeping the exasperation from her voice. ‘But we’ll go on to meet them?’
    â€˜Only if you’re alone.’
    Like I couldn’t have support just round the corner, Iona thought. ‘OK. Where and when?’
    â€˜You know the Cornerhouse?’
    She pictured the Art House cinema on the junction of Whitworth Street and Oxford Road. ‘I do.’
    â€˜I’ll be in the bar there. Eight tonight?’
    I can make it for tea at the folks’ after all, she thought. ‘Fine.’ She flashed a mischievous grin at Ritter. ‘Oh, Toby. This being a blind date, how will I know who you are?’
    â€˜Oh, yeah. Well . . . I’m six feet tall, twenty-two and I’ve got blond hair in short dreadlocks. I’ll be wearing a maroon top with Howie’s written across the chest. You?’
    â€˜I’m five foot three, mid-twenties . . . and I’m not describing my chest to you.’
    Silence.
    â€˜Relax, Toby, I’m joking.’
    â€˜Oh, right.’ He sounded both bemused and intrigued. ‘What’s your name again?’
    â€˜Detective Constable Khan.’
    â€˜Khan? So you’re . . .’ He let the question hang.
    â€˜Half Scottish, half Pakistani. I’ll be wearing a charcoal trouser suit. See you at eight.’ She pressed red and stood.
    Ritter was chuckling. ‘Which side of the family is from Pakistan?’ he asked.
    â€˜My dad’s. He came here in the seventies to do a PhD in Persian Studies.’
    â€˜Here in Manchester?’
    â€˜No, up in Glasgow. That’s where he met my mum.’
    â€˜Ah.’ He held up a finger. ‘Hence the name Iona.’
    â€˜You’ve got it.’ She smiled.
    â€˜And is she an academic, too?’
    â€˜Mum? No, far from it. She was working as a typist in the history department’s office. They moved down here when dad was offered a