‘Steve Christie. It’s a while ago now but he did a couple of years for firearms offences.’

Clare glanced at Chris. ‘What sort of offences?’

‘Supplying small arms, mainly. Smuggled in from Eastern Europe and sold around Glasgow – small-time gangsters and the like.’

‘How long ago was that?’

‘Just over ten years.’

‘And since?’

‘Nothing, boss. He has an online business now. Buys cheap tat from China and supplies a few market stalls, corner shops. All seems above board. Files a tax return each year. No indication he’s involved in anything illegal.’

‘All the same,’ Clare said.

‘What about the other two?’ Chris asked.

‘Nothing. Both clean. Doug Gerrard owns pubs out the west end of Glasgow. Nice places. No problem with the licence and very little trouble, overall.’

‘And Eamon Ferry?’

‘Works for Glasgow City Council. Quite high up in the Planning Department.’

Clare considered this. ‘Any involvement in planning disputes?’

‘No. Squeaky clean.’

Clare thought of Eamon Ferry, his smooth manner, neat clothes, and she reckoned if he was involved in anything dodgy he’d be good at covering his tracks. But maybe she was being unfair. ‘What about Gaby and her husband?’

‘Still to check them, boss. But I’ll be surprised if there is anything. She’s in the public eye – splashed all over the papers every other week. If there was anything there the press would be all over it.’

‘Fair enough. But check all the same, yeah? And get onto Barlinnie prison. Find out who was in at the same time as Russell Fox and Steve Christie. Especially anyone involved with guns.’

Chris restarted the engine and signalled to pull out again.

‘Fancy a coffee at the station, first?’ Clare said. ‘I’d like to get things straight in my head before we speak to the three men again.’

‘Can we stop and get some food? Please?’

‘Chris, we’re in the middle of a murder investigation.’

He cancelled the signal and jerked on the handbrake. ‘I’ve been on the go since seven this morning. You might have started the day with a hotel breakfast but I had a slice of toast about,’ he checked his watch, ‘nine hours ago and I’ve barely stopped since. Right now, I could eat my own head.’

‘Okay!’ Clare said. ‘You’ve made your point. Leave the car here and we’ll walk back to Cromars. I’ll treat you to fish and chips.’

‘You might have brought me some chips,’ Sara said, wrinkling her nose as Chris and Clare entered the incident room.

‘Nose like a ferret,’ Chris muttered.

‘Sorry,’ Clare said. ‘We didn’t think. Chris’ll go back out again. My treat.’

She tossed her head. ‘S’okay. I had a sandwich earlier.’ Then she glared at Chris. ‘You can make dinner tonight, if we ever get home.’

‘Still trawling through the footage?’ Clare said.