The Witch stumbles, a cry caught in his throat, the tin of Irn-Bru erupting in a fountain of orange as it hits the ground. Then he’s on his knees, holding himself up with one hand on the counter.

Ian drones out the opening words to ‘Born to be Wild’ then slams the hammer down on the Witch’s wrist.

A squeal and he falls to the floor, curling up in a ball as Ian slams his boot into his back. Then he wraps his gloved hands into the Witch’s hair and drags him around behind the van.

‘What’ve you been told? ’

Rowan peers around the edge of the van, using the big bottles of Calor gas as a blind.

The Witch is scuffing backwards through the dirt, ruined wrist clutched to his chest, the other hand up – pointing. Teeth bared. ‘I’m warning you, Grandad, you don’t know who you’re—’

Ian kicks him in the face. ‘It’s Mr Falconer to you, sunshine.’

He rolls onto his front, bright red spattering from his mouth. ‘Unngh. . .’

‘And I know exactly who I’m messing with: Jake Ran Yingnu. You were supposed to do a job, Mr Ran.’ Ian kicks him again. ‘Did you really think twenty grand’s worth of cannabis could disappear from your farm and no one would bat an eyelid? ’ Ian pops out the earbuds and stares down at him, head on one side, a bird of prey watching a wounded rabbit. ‘Well? ’

The Witch pushes himself up . . . then collapses forward again, forehead resting on the blood-stained earth, bum in the air, as if he’s praying to Mecca. ‘I didn’t steal it! It wasn’t me!’

‘Think the McLeod brothers give a toss about that? That weed was in your care, you were responsible for it. And you let someone just waltz in and nick it in the middle of the night? ’ He backs up a couple of steps, then takes a run up and slams a boot into the Witch’s ribs, hard enough to flip him over. ‘How’d they find the place? How’d they get past the alarms? Who told them? ’

‘AAAAAAAGH. . .’ Coughing. Wheezing. The Witch wraps his good arm around his chest, his teeth bloody tombstones in a scarlet mouth. ‘It wasn’t me, I swear, I didn’t—’

‘Place was meant to be secure. The McLeods trusted you.’

Tears roll down the Witch’s cheeks, making clear trails in the dust. ‘I didn’t tell anyone! I did what I was supposed to do. IT WASN’T ME!’