Logan made a mental note of this, too, although he knew the report would be in the email inbox by the time he was back down the road. The time fit with the home invasion theory, as they were generally carried out later in the day when witnesses were fewer and farther between.

Of course, given the remoteness of the house, witnesses would have been thin on the ground at any time of day.

“I think my initial estimate about the knife used was a bit off,” Shona said. “Longer than I thought. Pretty thin, though. Blade’s about twenty centimetres long, maybe a little more. It has a triangular prong down near the handle around three centimetres wide. That’s the widest part.”

Logan drew a mental picture of the weapon in his head. “Fish knife? Like… for filleting?”

Shona clicked her fingers and pointed at the detective. “That’s the conclusion I came to. I Googled some pictures, and it fits the wound pattern.”

“Hardly designed for puncturing a human chest, is it?”

“No, but there’s no reason it wouldn’t,” Shona said. “Given enough force.” She pointed to the largest of the sheet-covered shapes. “There’s something else about your man, too. Mr Tattie.”

“Tatties,” Logan corrected.

“Right. Sorry. How could I have got that wrong?”

“His real name’s…” Logan’s eyes narrowed as he struggled to recall. “…something else,” he said, when it became apparent that nothing was coming back to him anytime soon. “They’ll have it down the road by now.”

“No need. I Googled him, too. It’s Sutherland. Archibald Sutherland.”

“That’s him, aye. What did you find?”

“Cancer,” Shona said. “A whole big pile of it, in fact. Lung, mostly, but it’s spread to his liver and one of his kidneys, too. I pulled his medical records, and he was aware. Got official diagnosis just over a month ago.”

“Was he on any treatment?”

Shona shook her head. “He was offered chemo and radiotherapy, but declined both. It would’ve bought him an extra month or two, at most, and that time likely wouldn’t have been pleasant.”

Logan regarded the vaguely man-shaped mound on the table. “So, he knew the clock was ticking, then.”

“Maybe that’s why they took the trip. One last holiday, sort of thing,” Shona suggested.

“Aye. Maybe,” Logan said, although there was no conviction behind it. He looked up at the clock, then double-checked it against his watch. “I’d better get going. Long night ahead, like I say.”

“I’ll get the report typed up and sent over,” Shona said. She anticipated Logan’s next question, and worked quickly to set his mind at ease. “Don’t worry, I’ll be the one typing it, not Albert.”

“Thank Christ for that,” Logan remarked. “We’d be waiting weeks at the rate that old bastard pokes the keys.”

A smile passed between them. Something else, too.