Logan watched her go, then entered the house and sidled over to the living room door. He could hear the clack of cameras from every room, and the creaking of floorboards overhead. There were three members of the forensics team standing over the bodies, one taking pictures while the other two—Palmer and a woman Logan vaguely recognised from past crime scenes—contemplated the family on the floor.

The woman’s exposed breast had been neatly tucked out of sight, Logan noted. He gave a nod too subtle for anyone else to see.

The coffee was definitely on him.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Palmer remarked, placing his hands on his hips. “That dour-faced bastard was right. If that isn’t Archie Tatties, I’ll eat my bloody hat.”

Chapter Seven

Gavin Howden, Junior Manager of the Eastfield Way Tesco superstore, smiled sympathetically and clicked ‘refresh’ on his email. He nodded to the man opposite while they both waited for the ancient laptop to clunk and whirr its way through its calculations, then peered at the screen over the rim of his round-framed glasses, and gave a shake of his head.

“Still nothing, I’m afraid.”

On the other side of a piece of furniture that could generously be described as a desk, and more accurately as ‘some bits of a table,’ Bob Hoon shook his head too, only somewhat more emphatically.

“No, he was going to send it.”

“Well… he hasn’t, I’m afraid.”

“Bollocks. Check again,” Hoon barked with enough authority that the interviewer got halfway through another refresh before remembering who was supposed to be in charge here.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gavin said.

“Oh, it fucking matters, son. Believe me,” Hoon spat. “Useless bastard. Aye, no’ you. Him, I mean.”

Gavin had not held his Junior Manager position long. He hadn’t held any job position long, in fact, having left school just over eighteen months before. He’d rapidly risen up the ranks, though, thanks partly to his work ethic and positive attitude, but mostly through having a dad who was the area manager.

He had conducted eleven staff interviews since moving into management. Being a weaselly little bastard who enjoyed wielding power over others, he’d thoroughly enjoyed most of them. He’d particularly enjoyed interviewing young women, and girls around his age. They’d all seemed suitably impressed when he’d regaled them of his meteoric rise to the top

He’d make Store Manager within the next two years, he’d told them, and from there the sky was the limit.

This interview, however, was proving less enjoyable. He’d opened with his usual speech about hard work and commitment, but the surly older applicant had all but laughed in his face, then tapped his wrist where a watch should have been and urged him to, “Crack on.”