Logan shook his head. “No. Just a hunch. You’re the one who gave us what we need to build the case.”

“Really?” Tyler’s chest puffed itself up. “Ach, it was nothing, boss.”

“And what about you? When did you figure out it was him?” Logan asked. “Did you work through it on the journey up?”

“Eh, not exactly. I fell asleep on the train.”

Logan frowned. “How did you know to go for his taxi, then?”

“It was the only one there,” Tyler explained. “I didn’t figure it out until I was in the car, and he mentioned that the killer had used a knife. We hadn’t mentioned that anywhere, so that rang alarm bells. He was looking into buying a Tesla, too, the flash bastard.”

Logan sat back in his chair. “Jesus. So… it was just… what? Good bloody fortune?”

Tyler shrugged. “Pretty much, boss, aye.” He grinned and waved at someone behind Logan. “Guess I’m just a lucky sort of guy.”

Logan turned in his chair to find Sinead and her brother, Harris, waving back from the ward doorway, and carrying a big tub of Quality Street and a bottle of Lucozade.

“Aye, son.” Logan patted Tyler’s arm again, then stood up. “I guess you really are.”

Epilogue

There was a man on the same side of the street as her. Walking behind, matching her pace. Step for step.

Olivia Maximuke pulled her bag higher on her shoulder, and picked up speed. She was three minutes from her house. Two if she ran. One, if she ditched her school shoes first.

This was Borys’ fault. He was meant to pick her up around the corner from school and drive her home. She’d had him pick her up every day since she’d found the note that had been left in her bedroom, its two-word message—‘Soon, malyshka—just about as thinly-veiled as any threat could ever be.

By the time she’d realised he wasn’t going to show up today, the bus had already left, leaving her with no choice but to make the journey home on foot.

She’d spotted the man following her almost immediately, but then, she’d been on the look-out. He was too far away for her to see him in any detail, and the dark jacket he wore with the hood pulled up didn’t help matters.

Had she gone straight home, she’d have been there five minutes ago. Instead, she’d taken a less direct route, sticking to the busier roads and thoroughfares where she might usually have followed more secluded shortcuts.

As well as keeping her visible, she’d hoped it might also prove her wrong. Hoped that the man behind her wouldn’t follow the same convoluted route. Hoped that he’d turn off somewhere, keep going, walk on by.

He didn’t. He wasn’t. He was still right there.