Moira shook her head. “It’s not for me. I’ve got no interest in anyone seeing me like this unless absolutely necessary. Take it away.”

“Right. Aye,” said Ben. He picked up the tablet, looked into the eyes of the old man reflected in it, then placed it in the Argos bag alongside the box. “It was just a thought, as I say. Thought you might appreciate the odd wee blether, but… Aye.” He picked up the bag. “I’d best be off, anyway. Good luck, Moira.”

He started to move away, then stopped when she spoke. “I mean… Someone’s bound to end up dead again soon. Down here, I mean. It’s not like you won’t be back.”

“True,” Ben admitted.

Moira shrugged. “And I suppose the odd phone call between now and then would be… tolerable.”

Ben felt the muscles in his face twitch, tugging his mouth up at the corners. “Aye,” he agreed. “I suppose it would, at that.”

* * *

On another day, at another hospital, DCI Jack Logan was finding the temperature in the mortuary even colder than usual.

“I, eh, I tried calling. Yesterday. Last night. When I got back up the road,” Logan said. “But… I don’t know if you were out, or…”

“Not out, no,” Shona replied. She was standing over by the kettle, the foil lid of a Chicken and Mushroom Pot Noodle peeled back in anticipation. “Just busy.”

“Oh. Right. Aye. Fair enough,” Logan said.

The sound of the kettle was becoming louder as the water rolled to the boil. Logan waited, watching the steam rising to the ceiling, until the switch had clicked and the noise died down.

“I’m just in to see Tyler. He had his op this morning.”

Shona kept her back to him as she drowned the noodles in the hot water. “Tell him I’m asking for him.”

“Aye. I will do,” Logan said. He rocked on his heels, searching for something else to say. Usually, conversation flowed easily between them, but there was something putting itself in the way of that today. “We got our man,” he said, settling on a topic. “For the murders, I mean.”

Shona drowned the noodles in the water, and shot a thin smile back over her shoulder. “Well done.”

“Aye, so that was… good,” Logan said. He clicked his fingers, then clapped a hand against a fist. “Anything come up on Jazmin McAllister?”

Shona picked up her Pot Noodle and a fork, and began stabbing the contents of one with the other, breaking up the solid carbohydrate block.

“Definitely suicide,” she said. “Signs on the body were in keeping, and Geoff was telling me last night that there was nothing in the house to suggest anyone else had been in there recently.”

“Geoff? Palmer, you mean?” Logan asked.

“Yeah.” Shona jabbed at her noodles. “We met up last night to discuss it.”

Logan frowned. “Last night? I thought you said you didn’t go out.”