Logan indicated that he didn’t care with a shrug and a shake of his head.

“You’re not going to grass me up, are you? Bloody smoking ban. Meddling, that’s what it is. Nothing but meddling.”

He took out a packet of cigarettes, flipped open the top, and offered them across the table.

“No, thanks.”

“Quit that, too, did you?” said Cowan, raising both eyebrows. “You’re a man of some willpower, Jack.”

“Sometimes.”

Cowan lit a cigarette with a battered old Zippo lighter, drew in a lungful of smoke, then let his head flop back while he took a moment to enjoy it. He exhaled upwards, then spent a few seconds watching the undulating patterns of the smoke.

“Meddling bastards are killing this industry. I mean, look at me. Normally, I can’t even have a fag in my own fucking pub!” Cowan said. He chuckled. “Mind you, I said that to an American fella last week, and he was very confused. Over there, ‘fag’ means—”

“Did you kill Archie?” Logan asked, cleaving a line through the bullshit.

“Why would I?”

“You’re not answering my question, Shuggie.”

Across the table, Cowan smirked, then took another draw of his cigarette. “No. I suppose I’m not, at that,” he admitted. “Fine. You want answers? Fine. No. I didn’t kill Archie. I had no reason to kill Archie. I liked Archie. Like I told you, he and I did very well out of our business association, and he was a funny guy. Aye, not like when he was on the telly, actually funny. Sharp sense of humour.”

He took a gulp of coffee and another lungful of smoke before carrying on.

“Do you know he was offered a show? A one-off special for Hogmanay this year. On the BBC this time, too, not STV. Neeps and Tatties were meant to be ringing in the New Year. He was hoping it might lead to a series.” The older man shrugged. “I thought their stuff might be a bit… broad for modern audiences, but, ‘Look at Mrs Brown’s Boys,’ he said. ‘People love that shite.’ And he had a point. They do. For some reason.”

Logan frowned. “He was going back on the telly?”

“Forty-five-minute special, aye,” Cowan confirmed.

“Did Billy Neeps know?”

“I should fucking hope so, aye. They both signed on for it.”

“He didn’t mention it,” Logan remarked. “Don’t suppose you know who Archie was talking to at the BBC?”

Cowan snorted. “I was his business partner, Jack, not his agent. So, no. I’ve got no idea. Billy’ll know, though, I’m sure.”

Logan nodded, then took a sip of his coffee and waited. Shuggie hadn’t sent the barman away for no reason. There was information coming. Something Cowan couldn’t risk getting out into the public domain.