“What the fu—?” Logan muttered. His eyes went to the clock on the dash, then to his watch, then to DC Neish. “You fly wee bastard!”

“Good chat, though,” Tyler said. “I mean it. I think you make some really good points, boss. Really helped.” He clicked his fingers, then pointed to the road ahead. “But we should probably get going if we’re going to talk to this Frankie fella, don’t you think?”

Logan tutted, shook his head, then fired up the engine. “Aye, well, we’ve got to find the bastard first. And you’d better get on the phone to explain to Sinead why you’ll no’ be up the road tonight,” he instructed.

He pulled out of the rank, and the taxi behind him immediately surged forward to claim the space.

Logan jabbed a warning finger at the younger detective sitting beside him. “And when you tell her, don’t you bloody dare try and blame it on me.”

Chapter Thirty-One

The excitement in the Incident Room was palpable. Jazmin McAllister was a breakthrough, everyone was sure of it. One of Archie’s porn starlets, and she’d given birth to a baby the same week that Archie magically acquired one out of thin air. That couldn’t be coincidental. There was just no way.

They’d tracked down an address for her via the hospital, and then done some digging. She’d bought a house in Drumnadrochit six months back. Lived alone, according to Council Tax records. They hadn’t contacted her yet. Better to turn up and talk to her face to face than spook her with a phone call and turn her into a flight risk.

Dave had found her Facebook profile. It was mostly locked down, but they’d been able to get a good headshot from it, and it now took pride of place on the Big Board.

She was pretty, in an elf-like sort of way, all big eyes and freckles. Boyish, almost, with her short bobbed hair. She had a crooked smile that could’ve made her unattractive, but which somehow had the opposite effect.

And Christ, she looked young. She was twenty-two, according to what they’d been able to dig up, but Ben would be prepared to bet that she’d still be getting jarred for ID in pubs until she was well into her thirties. Personally, he’d have second thoughts about selling her a lottery ticket without a shifty at her passport or driver’s licence.

Still, maybe it was an old picture. Maybe she’d looked much older when she’d started her on-screen career.

God, he hoped so.

“Right, so, searching her name on the internet isn’t bringing up any reference to her… acting career?” Ben asked, turning away from the lassie’s photograph.

“Nothing, sir,” Hamza confirmed. “Presumably, she uses a stage name.”