‘I have some information for you concerning our mutual acquaintance. What you make of it is up to you.’

Muirhead listened intently for the next twenty seconds.

‘Why are you telling me this?’

The caller was gone.

Chapter Nine

Annie Boyle sat in a cafeteria in the St Enoch’s Shopping Centre, staring into a polystyrene cup of lukewarm coffee, oblivious to the comings and goings of the early-morning shoppers. She was reflecting upon the changes in her life since the death of her son – the turmoil into which her family had been plunged; the decline of her husband; the pointing fingers; the whispers; the endless phone calls from journalists, and the never-ending stream of police officers. Questions! Questions! Questions! Annie had always been aware of the nature of the family business but had never felt the need or desire to become involved with its nuts and bolts.

She had disapproved of the freedom her husband had always afforded to Kevin, even from an early age. She had grown weary of the sound of her own voice telling Hugh that if he did not keep a firmer grip on the business and on Kevin, both were likely to end up in serious bother. She fought to control her irritation when Hugh attempted to placate her with hollow promises that he would ‘sort it.’

She knew only too well that nothing would be done. Nothing would change. Kevin would be allowed and indeed encouraged, to go his own sweet way. Hugh did not see past his eldest son and anything Kevin did which might be even vaguely injudicious was justified by an endless series of fatuous excuses. Kevin was able to behave exactly as he chose.

For some time prior to the murder, Annie had become aware of some kind of tension between Kevin and his brother Paul.

Paul was the business man, the money man. He preferred to keep a low profile and firmly believed that if you did not upset the authorities, the authorities were unlikely to upset you. The brothers had never been particularly close and Paul and Kevin frequently argued about some of the latter’s activities. These arguments were invariably heated but recently there had been an edge to their disputes that she could not put her finger on. Too often for her liking, she felt as if she was listening to two people conducting a private debate.

‘We’re the Boyles, we do what we like.’

‘No, you do what you like. I’m trying to run a business that is making us, you, a bloody fortune and you fuck about attracting attention to yourself, to us.’

‘So what, who’s going to touch us?’

‘The law won’t touch us, Kevin, it will jump all over us.’

‘Christ, you can be a total wimp. The polis have tried before. They failed before. Stop shiting yourself, will you, and go back to your books and computer games.’

‘This is serious Kevin.’