‘I didn’t do it! They’re fitting me up! Ask Nichole: ask her, she’ll tell you it’s all lies. He’s trying to make me look bad. He’s—’

Mr Muscle gave him another shake. ‘I arrived with the studio car to collect Miss Fyfe at six this morning. Mr Whyte was waiting outside, hiding behind the hotel bins. I approached him to ascertain why he wasn’t respecting Miss Fyfe’s request for privacy and he threw an empty bottle of Bell’s Whisky at me.’

‘I never! He’s lying!’

Logan looked Mr Muscle up and down. ‘You give evidence in court a lot, don’t you? ’

‘Occupational hazard.’ His massive shoulders shrugged beneath the shiny bomber jacket. ‘But I believe the incident with the bottle will be captured on the hotel’s security cameras. After Mr Whyte’s assault on my person, I restrained him and contacted Mr Insch for further instructions.’

Logan stopped writing. ‘Let me guess, he asked you not to make it official? ’

‘Sadly, that was before I learned about the package. As I said, Miss Fyfe is considerably distressed.’

Not surprising. Most hotels left newspapers outside the rooms in the morning, not severed Yorkshire terriers’ heads.

As soon as the cell door closed the sobbing started.

PC Guthrie peered through the clear plastic evidence bag and into the open box. His shoulders dropped an inch. ‘Poor little fella. . .’

Logan patted him on the back. ‘Get it up to fingerprints. Then off to the mortuary.’

He sucked his teeth, mouth turning down at the edges. ‘The Ice Queen’s going to love that. Can’t we just—’

‘And I want a full criminal history of laughing boy on my desk in twenty minutes, tops.’

A sigh. Then Guthrie clutched the evidence bag to his chest, staring down at the dog. ‘How could anyone do that to a wee doggie? ’ He shuffled off.

Logan slid back the hatch in the cell door. Robbie Whyte stood in the middle of the small room, arms hanging by his sides, his baggy jeans barely covering his pants, his trainers like boats. That’s what happened when they confiscated your belt and shoelaces.

Whyte’s shoulders trembled.

Logan knocked on the cold metal door. ‘You sure you don’t want to just . . . tell someone why you did it? ’

‘It’s all lies. . .’ Whyte ground the heel of one hand into his left eye. ‘She still loves me. I know she still loves me.’

‘Thought the expression was, “Say it with flowers.” Not, “Severed dogs’ heads.”’ A pause. ‘Was it your dog? Or did you just pick one at random? ’