Hoon shrugged. “Was meant to start today, so I’ll probably get the fucking sack, thanks to you.”

“Sorry. You should’ve said.”

“Nah, just winding you up. Will I fuck,” Hoon replied. “The manager there’ll no’ say anything about it.” He held up his pinkie finger and waggled it to suggest he had the man wrapped around that particular digit. “I’ll probably get him to pay my fucking travel expenses.”

Logan reached into his coat pocket and removed his wallet. “Here, no, I’ll—”

“Fucking put that away. Right now,” Hoon instructed. He had a chicken drumstick held halfway to his mouth, and a dangerous glint in his eyes. He waited until Logan had pocketed the wallet, then took a bite. “Like you said about Boyband, it’s good to be useful sometimes. Even if it is just for dangling wee arseholes off roofs.”

“Aye. Well. I shouldn’t have done that, and I shouldn’t have got you involved,” Logan replied.

“Don’t fucking stress yourself, Jack. This is the best day out I’ve had in months,” Hoon assured him. “This has been like a fucking day trip to Disneyland.” He took another bite of chicken. “Who did it, then?”

Logan blinked. “Did what?”

“Your murders. Archie Tatties and his family. If it’s no’ Frankie, who was it?”

Logan looked up through the steamy windscreen, as if he could still see the top of the tower block up there somewhere. “It might still be Frankie,” he said, but there was very little conviction behind the words.

“Nah,” Hoon said, mid-chew. “I’m not feeling it.”

“No,” Logan agreed. “Nor me. Not now, anyway. How would he have found them?”

“Exactly,” said Hoon. “Way up there? Arseholes like Frankie might think they’ve got connections, but they’re worth fuck all anywhere past Clydebank.”

“It had to be someone who knew where to find them.”

“Like who?”

“Billy Neeps knew. We can place him at the scene. And he had motive.”

“There you fucking go, then!” Hoon cried, throwing his chicken leg back into the cardboard tub. “Let’s go find that unfunny wee fuck and hang him off a roof, then!”

“Tempting,” Logan admitted. “But no. I don’t think he did it, either. He’s mixed up in it, but not like that. Him and his wife made a deal with Archie, but they didn’t kill him.”

Hoon tutted, and plucked his discarded chicken back out of the box. “Fuck’s sake. Who else, then?”

Logan wiped the steam from the side window with the sleeve of his coat, revealing the car park shared by the KFC and the other retail units. He looked out over it, but paid very little attention to the cars, buses, taxis, delivery vans, and trolley-pushing pedestrians who weaved in and out of each other in some clumsy yet elaborate dance.