“CID and Uniform have the feelers out, trying to figure out where they got it,” said Hamza. “But it’s hard to know where to start.”

“Well, they didn’t conjure the bloody thing out of thin air. It came from somewhere, which means it went somewhere, too. Whoever has that wean knows what happened. We find it, we find our killer. It’s that simple.”

Nobody argued. When he was certain they weren’t going to, Logan continued.

“Sinead, I want you to be the main point of contact on the baby. Everyone working on it reports to you, and you report to the rest of us. We all need to be in the loop on this, but you’re taking lead and staying on it, however long it takes.”

An uncertain look passed between Sinead and Tyler. He nodded, encouraging her to say yes. Logan had already moved on, though, her acceptance of the order taken for granted.

“Tyler, you’re coming with me. We’re heading down the road. Tonight.”

Tyler sat up straighter at the mention of his name. “Eh, down the road, boss?” He studiously avoided Sinead’s gaze. “For how long?”

“For as long as it takes,” Logan retorted. “Why, you got something else planned for this week?”

From the corner of his eye, Tyler could see Sinead trying to shift herself into his line of sight. He didn’t dare look her way, though, especially given what he was about to say.

“No. Nothing planned.”

Logan regarded him for a moment or two, then nodded. “Right. Good. That’s settled, then. Archie Tatties’ old comedy partner lives just south of Glasgow. Billy Neeps. We’re going to have a word with him, and scope out Archie’s production company, too.” He wafted the page around. “Something doesn’t feel right there.”

“In what way, boss?” Tyler asked, still doing everything he could to avoid meeting Sinead’s eye.

Logan checked the company income report again, having almost convinced himself he must have misunderstood it last time.

He hadn’t. He’d read it correctly. All seven figures of it.

“Based on how much money he’s bringing in, I can’t help but think that Mr Tatties was in business with some very dangerous people.”

Chapter Eighteen

Bruno Capelli understood that the corners were important. You could sweep and mop the rest of the floor as much as you liked, but miss the corners beneath the shelves and fridges, and that was where the eyes went. He didn’t care if you could eat your dinner off the rest of the floor—neglect the corners, and the place would never look clean.