“Nothing. No, it’s… Nothing,” Sinead told him. “Just wondering how Tyler’s getting on. Tyler and the boss, I mean. How they’re getting on.”

“Worried about how Tyler’s going to cope in the big bad city?” Hamza laughed.

“No, not… Something like that.”

“They’ll be fine,” Hamza assured her. “The DCI won’t let anything happen to him. No saying he won’t throttle Tyler himself, of course, but he won’t let anything else happen.”

Sinead forced a smile and backed it up with a brief nod. “Aye. You’re right. Worrying about nothing,” she said, then she steered the conversation onto a subject less fraught with pitfalls than Tyler’s current wellbeing. “Been looking over this statement you got from the cleaner.”

Hamza scooted his chair a little closer so he could see the screen. “What about it?”

“I was just reading the bit where she says that Rufus Boyle usually goes to visit anyone renting his house.”

“She did,” Hamza confirmed. “But he says he didn’t this time. I called to double-check, and he’s insistent he didn’t go. Thought he’d give them their privacy.”

“Right. Fair enough. It’s just… bit weird that, isn’t it?” Sinead said. “I mean, it’s part of his usual routine. It’s not like he’s got a hundred-and-one other things to do. And I don’t imagine it’s every day he has a celebrity come to stay.”

“He said he was away on the day they arrived and didn’t get back until late.”

“And that checks out?”

“Yeah. Long weekend playing golf. Gleneagles. Flash bastard. Got back on Tuesday morning.”

“They were there for a week. He didn’t find ten minutes to pop in at any point during that time?”

“So he says.”

Sinead put her hands behind her head and leaned back in her chair.

“You don’t believe him?” Hamza asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s not out of the question,” Sinead said. “Just… I remember him. From when I was in Uniform down here, I mean. Right nosy bastard. Thought he was a bit of a local celebrity himself. Always getting involved in everything. Hosting events, lending his support to candidates at elections, doing talks at the schools…”

“Talks about what?”

Sinead shrugged. “Business, mostly. How to be successful. He came to the high school to talk to my class in fifth year, actually. It was basically about how to get rich. Annoyingly, he missed off the first and most crucial step in his process.”

“And what was that?”

“Be the only child of wealthy parents,” Sinead said, and they shared a smile at that. “You know he got in touch after my parents died and asked if I wanted him to say a few words at the funeral?”

“Did they know him?”