Instead of leaping valiantly to Shuggie’s defence, he shifted the conversation onto another member of the Cowan family.

“I’m going to go back and talk to Frankie in the morning,” he said.

“You taking Heather?” the Detective Superintendent asked.

“He’s not ‘taking’ me anywhere,” DCI Filson objected. “I did, however, offer to go with him for support.”

“Right. Yes. Sorry, Heather,” the Gozer said, awkwardly scratching his stomach through his shirt. “It’s good that you’re going. Of your own free will, I mean.”

“She isn’t,” Logan told him. “I’m handling this one on my own.”

“What? That’s reckless, Jack. They’re a dangerous bunch. We’ve got a local shopkeeper in a coma, and we think Frankie put him there. Can’t bloody prove anything, of course. As usual. Can’t even tie him to it beyond speculation.”

Logan’s smile was a thin, solemn sort of thing. It was the sort of smile shared between mourners at a funeral. A gesture, done with the intention of reassuring the other party that things would get better. That things wouldn’t always be like this. That brighter futures lay ahead.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got it in hand,” he said. “But I do need one more thing from you though, sir.”

The Gozer flinched. “God. He’s calling me ‘sir.’ It must be big.” He sighed, bracing himself. “Go on, then. What do you want?”

“A blind eye turned for the next twelve hours or so,” Logan replied. He looked from one officer to the other. “And no questions asked.”

Chapter Forty

The first call Hamza made when he was back on the road was not to DCI Forde. Instead, as the quaint little Bed & Breakfast grew smaller in the rearview mirror, he dialled home, sat tensed while he listened to the ringing, then let out a shaky breath when his wife’s voice came echoing from the speakers.

“Hello?”

Her voice was slurred. Confused.

“Hey. Sorry, were you sleeping?” he asked.

“No. Maybe. I don’t… What time is it?”

“It’s…” He checked the clock and winced. “Shite. It’s half-past eleven.”

“Then yes, of course I was bloody sleeping!” Amira replied.

Her voice was gruff, her irritation obvious. She sounded like her mother when she was annoyed. Exactly like her mother, in fact. Usually, this would make Hamza fearful for the future. Tonight, though, it filled him full of something else. Hope, maybe. Or gratitude.

“Sorry. I didn’t realise it was so late,” he said.

Down the line, Amira yawned. “Where are you? Are you coming home?”

“Not tonight, no,” Hamza told her. “I’m on Skye.”

“What are you doing on Skye?”

“Driving,” Hamza said. “I… I had to go and break some news to a victim’s parents.”

“Oh. Yikes.” Amira said, suddenly sounding more awake. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.”

A lie.

“You don’t sound fine.”