Her eyes flicked very deliberately to his trousers, then refocused their lock on his face.

Logan coughed quietly. “Aye, well… like we both agreed at the time—”

“Mistake. God. Yes. Absolutely. Don’t know what we were thinking,” she said. “Water under the bridge.”

“Aye. Well,” Logan said again. He scratched the back of his head, despite it not being remotely itchy, then nodded. “It was good to see you again, Heather. I’d better crack on, though. The Gozer’s let me borrow—”

“An interview room. Room two,” the other DCI said.

Logan missed a beat. “Eh, aye. That’s right. How’d you know?”

“Because I’m sitting in on the interview,” Heather told him.

“No.” Logan shook his head. “I mean, thanks for the offer, but that won’t be necessary.”

“Except it will. This isn’t your patch now, Jack. Our nick, our rules. And, between you and me, I can’t wait to see you in action again.” She smiled and gestured along the corridor ahead of them. “So… shall we?”

* * *

Billy Neeps sat in silence while the introductions were made for the benefit of the recording. Present in the room were DCI Jack Logan, DCI Heather Filson, the suspect William Pinnock, and the suspect’s solicitor, Mrs Amilie Maitland, of the legal firm, Maitland & McQuarrie.

Once all that was out of the way, and DCI Filson had locked on her laser-targeted eye-contact, Logan jumped right in with both feet.

“You’re a lying bastard, Billy.”

“Excuse me. I’d ask that you don’t talk to my client like that,” the solicitor said, leaning in front of Billy before he could respond. “There’s no need for that sort of language. My client is here of his own free will to assist with your enquiries, I’d ask you to remember and respect that.”

Logan conceded the point with a nod. The statement had been more for her benefit than for Billy’s, anyway. It was a good way of gauging how on-the-ball the lawyers were, and how willing they were to throw themselves into the fray.

This one was keen and confident, which generally made things more difficult.

“You’re a lying blighter, Billy,” Logan said. He side-eyed the solicitor, who looked unimpressed, but said nothing.

“What? No. How? What did I say?”

“When did you last see Archie?” Logan asked.

Across the table, Billy took a big swig from his plastic cup of water, and managed to spill half of it down the front of his polo shirt. “I, eh, I told you. December last year. When he… when he… When he came in. To the shop—”

“BZZZZZT!” Logan slammed his hand down on an imaginary buzzer. “Try again.”

Billy’s fingertips tapped a tuneless rhythm on the plastic cup, the whirring of his brain practically audible on the other side of the table. “He’d… he’d dropped his phone, you see? And he wanted—”