“No, but he is,” Frankie said, nodding in Logan’s direction. “And this whole pantomime’s a total fuckin’ joke. You think you can hang me off a roof and I’ll tell you I killed Archie? Nae luck, pal. I didn’t do it, and even if I had, I wouldn’t say a fuckin’ word. And as for some daft lassie getting knocked up then doing away with herself? Fuckin’ diddums. No’ my problem. And don’t even fuckin’ think of trying to saddle me with the wean. I’m no’ interested.”

Logan met Frankie’s eye, and forced his hands as far down into his pockets as they would go so they wouldn’t try and shove the bastard off the roof before he had a chance to stop them. There was no fear left in those eyes now. None. Just a smug look of victory. Of superiority.

‘Is this it?’ those eyes asked. ‘Is this the best you can do?’

“You’ve got fuckin’ nothing on me. No’ for Archie, and no’ for that wee slag, either,” Frankie spat. “So, either get me down off here or fuckin’ drop me. Either way, I’m done talking.”

Behind the men, a throat was cleared. Logan and Hoon looked round to find Shuggie Cowan standing a few feet behind them, drowning in an oversized black funeral coat. A now fully-dressed Budge stood a step behind him on his right, while the other one—Paco, was it? Logan hadn’t paid him enough attention to be sure—hung a few paces further back on the left, his weight bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Oh, now you’re fucked. Now you’re totally fucked!” Frankie cackled. “Alright, Uncle Shuggie? Check oot this pair o’ pricks. Think they can fuckin’ throw their weight around wi’ me.”

“Frankie. Jack,” Shuggie said, nodding to both in turn. The wrinkles around his eyes stretched a little when he recognised the third man. “Bloody hell. Bob Hoon? Have you not topped yourself yet?”

“No’ yet, Shuggie,” Hoon said. He yanked Frankie back from the edge and sent him stumbling down onto the roof. “But the day’s still young.”

“You’re looking old, Bob.”

“Aye, well, you look like you’ve just dragged your withered arse out of a fucking hole in the ground,” Hoon retorted. “So maybe best no’ calling the fucking kettle black, eh?”

Shuggie went through the motions of a laugh without ever really coming close to one. “Fair point, Bob. Eloquently made, as ever,” he conceded.

There was a subtle change to his demeanour then—a shifting of gears away from making pleasantries and towards something more business-like.

“I’m afraid you gents are wasting your time with my nephew here,” Shuggie said. “He had no involvement in Archie’s death.”