“Right then, polisman,” a voice growled behind him, and Tyler’s heart began trying to climb its way up out of his throat. “We’re all going to play a little game.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Logan stirred his coffee, waiting for the answer to his question. In truth, Cowan’s eyes had already answered it for him—he was good at keeping his expression measured, but the eyes gave him away—but Logan wanted to hear if the rest of him said the same thing.

“Aye. Of course the name means something to me. Show me someone our age from this part of the world who says they haven’t heard of Archie Tatties and I’ll show you a liar,” the old man said.

Logan stirred. Watched. Waited.

“And, in recent years, prior to my retirement, he and I were in business together.”

The spoon stopped swirling around in the cup. Logan tapped it twice on the rim, then set it down on the metal tray with a clank.

“Aye, I’d heard that might be the case,” he said. “What sort of business were you in, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Across the table, Cowan tore open a sachet of brown sugar and poured it into his coffee. “I’m sure you’re well aware, Jack.”

“Humour me.”

“As you wish,” Cowan said, shaking the last few grains from the sachet. He reached for another and repeated the process. “We were in the adult entertainment industry.”

“You mean the porn business?”

Cowan appeared genuinely offended by the comment. “No, Jack. The adult entertainment industry. We weren’t just tits and shagging like all these internet bastards. We told stories.”

“Aye, but… stories about tits and shagging, though?”

“The shagging was secondary. On our stuff, the plot was king. We didn’t make pornos, Jack, we made fucking magic.”

“With heavy emphasis on the first part of that phrase, I’d imagine,” Logan said.

Cowan scowled, but then bit down on his lip, physically stopping himself from sniping back. Clearly, the remarks had touched a nerve and threatened some sort of artistic illusion the old man had built around himself.

“So, he’s dead, is he?” Cowan asked, changing the subject. “I mean, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”

“That’s some assumption to make, Shuggie.”

“Not really. You’re still MIT, aren’t you? If his kids had been kidnapped he’d have already been on the phone to me about it.”

“Asking if you’d taken them?” Logan guessed.

Cowan exhaled sharply through both nostrils, like a bull contemplating a charge. “Asking for money to pay the ransom, more like. Archie was a funny guy, and an artist in many respects, but he had fuck all knack when it came to managing a budget.” He opened another pack of sugar—the fourth now, Logan thought—and dumped it into his mug. “What happened?”

“He was stabbed. Wife and kids, too.”