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he wasn't. Sort this one out yourself, Annie. How hard can it be to handle a simple exchange with a scumbag thief, right in the middle of one of the busiest public places in Glasgow? So hurriedly gathering up her jacket and messenger bag, she locked the office, ran down the stairs and unhitched her bike from the railings outside. 
    Ten minutes later, after emptying her bank account at an ATM, she arrived at Buchanan Street bus station, then carefully padlocked her bike and went in search of stance 48. Checking her watch, she saw that she was a few minutes early. A casual stroll around the concourse looking at the electronic arrivals boards, while trying to spot any suspicious looking characters, proved fruitless. Some days in Glasgow everyone looks suspicious.  
    At five past two she was starting to wonder if she'd been stood up, when a short stocky figure, wearing motor cycle gear and a brightly coloured full-face helmet, walked straight up to her and said, with the same gruff voice she’d heard in the phone call, 'you got the three hundred?' 
    'Let me see the phone first,' replied Annie, warily. 
    Reaching inside his jacket, the biker produced an iPhone and briefly showed her the home screen, which she recognised, confirming that the device definitely belonged to Jamie. Assuming that the handover was nearly concluded, Annie subconsciously relaxed and rummaged around inside her courier bag, trying to find the envelope with the money. At the exact moment she pulled the envelope from inside the bag, the biker seized his chance. Grabbing the envelope from her hand, he pushed Annie backwards and she suddenly found herself lying on the ground, caught up in a pile of travellers' suitcases and a howling baby's pushchair.  
    Cursing her stupidity, Annie untangled herself from the luggage and ran in the direction the biker had taken to exit the bus station. Skidding to a halt on the pavement outside, she looked around desperately, scanning up and down the street for the thief. Nothing. And then, fifty yards away, she caught a glimpse of the distinctive yellow and green crash helmet. The iPhone thief was a pillion passenger on a motorbike, stuck in a snarl of traffic waiting to turn left at the junction with North Hanover Street. Annie sprinted flat out and got within twenty yards of the stationary motorbike, when she saw the traffic lights were about to change. Pulling out her phone, she jumped on top of a litter bin and put the phone’s camera into burst mode. Holding it as high as she could, Annie hoped she would get lucky and catch a picture of the bike's rear number plate as it disappeared, weaving between a group of accelerating cars and vans. 
    Bent over, with hands on knees, trying to catch her breath at the kerbside, Annie berated herself for being caught so stupidly off guard. 'Shit, shit, shit … no phone, no Jamie and now no money. Outstanding job, Annie. The big time detective, not . You've really excelled yourself this time girl.’

Chapter 9
     
    Following the debacle at the bus station, Annie quickly cycled back to the office, with her brain in a complete turmoil as she tried to work out her next move. The answer was obvious, she had to speak to Jack. Even if he didn't feel ready to get involved directly, he would still know exactly what to do. But first she scrolled through twenty-odd images from the camera on her phone, praying she had captured a decent shot of the motorbike. Quickly she narrowed it down to two useable pictures, which she cropped, enlarged and sharpened using Photoshop editing software, to enhance the images. Still not great, but one slightly blurred picture did at least show a partial registration number and the other had most of the motorbike in profile, as it sped off round the corner. 
    Annie picked up the phone and dialled Jack’s number. 'Hi boss, it's me. I need your help ASAP. I've messed up, big time.'  
    She explained how her friend Jamie Boyd had been out of touch for two days,