Aye, no’ half, Logan thought, thinking back to the digits on that statement of accounts.

“And he didn’t say who he was in business with?” the DCI asked. “He didn’t mention a name?”

Fellatio said nothing as she leaned forward and stubbed out her cigarette.

“Please think,” Logan urged. “It could be important.”

“He never mentioned a name, no.” Fellatio glanced furtively around the room, presumably on the off-chance that some interloper had managed to sneak in without triggering the dog-shaped intruder alarm. “But,” she whispered, once she was sure the coast was clear. “I may have been privy to a rumour or two…”

* * *

Dave Davidson was bored. Cataclysmically bored, in fact.

His main role—his only role, officially—was to log the bags of evidence in and out, so they could be tracked throughout the investigation, and an important job it was, too.

It became substantially less important when there was no new physical evidence coming in, and nobody was showing any interest in checking any of it out. The last bit of excitement had been when Archie and Donna Sutherland’s phones were being sent up the road to the tech bods to try to access, and he’d had to get a couple of signatures.

That had been yesterday.

Most of today had been spent double and triple-checking everything was recorded correctly, then playing some Minesweeper on the computer. He had only rediscovered the game recently, having last played it on a school computer when he was eight or nine. He was better at it now, although considering he hadn’t understood what the hell he was meant to be doing back then, this came as no real surprise.

Christ, he was bored.

He’d made the phone call to Inverness to request that someone up there meet with Donna Sutherland’s sister for the formal identification of the bodies. Someone from CID was going to handle it. They’d also find out where the sister was at the time of the attack, and generally have a good root around in her life to find out if she had any connection to the case beyond the one afforded to her by genetics.

That had been ages ago.

DI Forde was usually good at giving him tasks to do, but he’d cleared off out of the office, leaving Hamza to run the Incident Room.

Now, though, Sinead was laying out info on the Big Board, and Hamza was on his phone, chasing up such-and-such, or following through on whatever.

And that was fine. They had their jobs, and he had his. He wasn’t part of the team. Not really. It was more like he was in their orbit, circling them as they worked the case.