“Forgive me for being so blunt, Mr Boyle,” Logan said. “But I really don’t give two shites what you tell them. Just make sure they don’t turn up, because I’d imagine I’ll be somewhat more forthright and less tactful with them than you will, should they arrive here.”

Boyle chewed his tongue and crossed his hands behind his back, like he was fighting to keep them under control. “I’ll have to refund them. Everything. Not just the deposit, the whole fee. Who’s going to reimburse me for that? You?” He released a hand long enough to gesture at the Uniforms milling around in the car park. “Them? If not, then who? Because someone better had. Why should my business suffer because—”

Logan didn’t notice his feet closing the gap between himself and the other man. Nor did he notice his arm raising, not until he had a handful of Boyle’s shirt bunched between his fingers and the tweed-wearing posho bastard was folding in on himself in fear.

“I’m only going to say this once, Mr Boyle,” he growled. “I, and my fellow officers, have no interest in how much money you’re losing here. We don’t give a damn about you or your business. We’re here for two reasons—to find out who killed this family, and to make sure they spend the rest of their lives rotting in a jail cell. Anything that proves to be an obstacle to that—anything that compromises our ability to do these things—I will tear to pieces with my bare hands, and take immense fucking pleasure in doing so.”

He tightened his grip, drawing a little yelp of distress from the quivering Rufus.

“Is that understood?” the DCI demanded, lips drawing back to show teeth and spit and fury.

“Sir?” Sinead’s voice came from the doorway of the house behind them. “Is, eh, is everything alright?”

“Everything’s just peachy, Detective Constable,” Logan said, neither releasing his grip nor breaking eye contact with Boyle. “DC Neish is checking the outbuilding. Maybe go and give him a hand, eh?”

“You sure, I… eh…?”

“Sinead. Go help Tyler. That’s an order.” He jerked an arm up, momentarily raising Rufus off the ground. Then, with a scowl of distaste, he released his grip, sending the other man stumbling backwards. “Mr Boyle and I are going to have a nice little chat somewhere more private.”

* * *

Sinead found Tyler standing at one of the outbuilding’s grime-encrusted windows, trying to peer in through several years’ worth of compacted muck

“See anything?” she asked.

“Just… junk, I think,” Tyler replied. “Door’s locked. Padlock’s old, too. Doesn’t look like it’s been touched in a while.” He turned away from the glass. “Boss get that guy alright?”

“Aye. He was roughing him up when I left them,” Sinead said.

Tyler raised his eyebrows, but otherwise didn’t skip a beat. “Fair enough.”