‘Don’t get me wrong: I’m not ashamed of the things I’ve done, the things I’ve had other people do, but . . . I want . . . something. Got my lawyers to set up bursaries at Aberdeen University and RGU, helped people become doctors and nurses, sponsored vaccination programmes in the Third World, paid for wells to be drilled, mosquito nets for orphans. . . But I don’t feel any different.’

He sipped at his drink. Then frowned up at the ceiling. ‘Perhaps I should try a big public works project? Like Ian Wood and his Union Terrace Gardens thing, or the boy Trump and his golf course? Leave the city something to remember me by. . .’ A grin. ‘Other than the horror stories your colleagues tell.’

‘Do you know who did it? Can you find out? Because as soon as the media get hold of this it’s going to be all over the news and papers.’

Wee Hamish stared out into the dark expanse of garden. Or perhaps he was staring at his own reflection in the glass. Difficult to tell. ‘To be honest, Logan, I’ve rather let my attention waver on that side of the business. Once upon a time I knew the operation inside out, but . . . well, I get a lot more tired than I used to.’ A shrug, bony shoulders moving beneath the cardigan. ‘Reuben’s been looking after our pharmaceutical arm. Like he’s looking after many things. . .’

Silence.

‘Logan, you know I love Reuben like a son – bless his violent little cotton socks – but he’s a foot soldier, a lieutenant. He’s not a leader.’ Another trembling sip. ‘If I leave him in charge it’ll end in war.’

‘I’m not taking over.’ Logan put his glass down on the coffee table.

‘I know, I know. But if I can’t trust Reuben to run things, what can I do? You don’t want it, he can’t handle it; do I sell up to Malcolm McLennan instead? ’

‘Malk the Knife’s dangerous enough without handing him Aberdeen on a plate too. He’s already got everything south of Dundee.’

The wheelchair bleeped, then whined back a few feet, before spinning around to face Logan. Wee Hamish wasn’t smiling any more, instead a frown made hills and valleys in the pale skin of his forehead. ‘I shall endeavour to find out who is responsible for your burning victim. And don’t worry, if whoever did it is on my team, they’ll be getting a . . . disciplin-ary hearing. This isn’t the kind of legacy I want to leave behind.’