Kevin Boyle was to receive the Christian burial he had scarcely earned by his earthly deeds. The local priest had heard of him but had never actually met him and had certainly never seen him in church. When invited to perform the funeral service his reluctance had been expressed in the simple word, ‘No.’ However, the offer of an indecently large donation to his chapel had swiftly convinced him that there may have been some merit to this man’s life after all.

He was spared the ordeal of having to fabricate then deliver a eulogy. After the body had been lowered into the ground, the company was addressed by Paul. Glowing tributes were delivered for a young man who put others first and himself last. Devoted. Loving. Honest. Most of those who actually listened began to wonder if they had come to the right funeral.

The pathos of the moment was somewhat marred when a stray dog wandered among the wreathes and crapped in full view of the mourners just as Kevin’s many virtues were being extolled. The symbolism of the gesture was not lost on many, including McAllister and Taylor who were now parked just outside the cemetery gate.

‘Strange’, muttered the DI, ‘no sign of the minder. He’s buggered off but you would have thought he’d resurface for his master’s funeral do.’

‘We’ll find him. They can keep on pretending all they like that they have no idea where he’s gone, but he’ll turn up one way or another.’

‘It’s beginning to look as if it may be the other.’

‘Let’s get out of here. It’s nearly over and, in any event, I’ve seen enough. We’ve got a murder charge to think about.’

‘Another one?’

Across the city, another funeral was taking place. It was a much less grand affair and somewhat poorly attended.

An elderly lady was assisted to the front row of the Linn Crematorium by her son. He had flown up from London the previous night and intended to return home just as soon as he had done his filial duty.

‘It’s nice to see that Michael’s friends have come along. He will be pleased.’

‘Yes, Mum. He will be pleased.’

The kindly tone of his voice masked the inner feelings. Craig Clark could recognise police officers when he saw them. He might have been away from Glasgow for over ten years, but he could still spot the polis at a hundred yards. As a boy, he had seen plenty of them – usually looking for his brother who seemed to have been in trouble since he was old enough to walk and talk, or at least steal and lie.