“Just talk? You promise? You’re not going to arrest her?”

“We have absolutely no reason to. We just want her help. That’s all.”

There was a skoosh as the barmaid blasted some Irn Bru from a mixer tap into a half-pint glass. She knocked back a gulp like it was Dutch courage, then took a pen from the pocket on the front of her t-shirt.

“Fine. This is her address. But for Christ’s sake, don’t tell her I gave it to you,” she said, scribbling on the note Tyler had placed on the bar. “Or I swear, she’ll fucking kill me.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The address the barmaid had given them was a ground floor flat in one of the nicer sandstone tenements in Dennistoun. Tyler had paled at the thought of it, Dennistoun being one of those places whose reputation preceded it all the way to the Highlands, and likely much further still.

The area had been on the up since the Commonwealth Games regeneration project, though, and was barely recognisable as the place that had earned its then well-deserved reputation.

There were more students around now, and a few trendier pubs and restaurants had opened up to accommodate them, giving the place a more vibrant, livelier atmosphere.

It had been lively enough back in the day, of course, but for very different reasons. To say it had ‘had its problems’ with Class A drug misuse would be understating the issue. And, of course, where the junkies went, the dealers followed.

They were still knocking around now, of course, though far fewer in number. The dealers were less visible now, too, and unless you got a big old pile of smack off them on tick, they were unlikely to cause you any problems.

Logan stood on the front step of a block of flats, a finger resting on the bottom button of the intercom system. He regarded DC Neish, whose eyes were fixed on the door like he was accusing it of spilling his pint. At the same time, he had his weight on the balls of his feet, and his body half-turned from the door as if he was about to make a run for it.

“You alright, son?” Logan asked.

“Hm? Oh. Aye, boss. Just preparing myself.”

“For what, a bear attack?”

Tyler took note of his body language, then adjusted the positions of his arms and legs, in an attempt to appear more relaxed. This had the precise opposite effect to the one intended.

“No, just… Not sure what to expect, boss. I’m just being alert, and all that.”

Logan grunted. “First time for everything, I suppose,” he said, then he jabbed the button and heard the intercom ring through the window over on their left.

A set of red Venetian blinds parted momentarily in the middle. Logan caught a glimpse of an eye peering out at them, then the blinds fell back into place again.