‘He was sounding out how much you knew,’ said Catherine, ‘and must have satisfied himself that you weren’t going to be a threat.’

‘Daft wee lassie that doesn’t know what she’s doing,’ Jasmine said with a shrug.

‘They still followed you, though,’ said Fallan. ‘The next day, to make sure. And it didn’t set their minds at ease when they saw that not only were you continuing your investigation, but that I was your first port of call. Bad enough the ghosts of the past rising again, but rising again when there’s a three-million-pound payout in touching distance. I think I’ll take back my earlier apology. I don’t think either of us would have been collateral damage on Wednesday. When they saw us together, they needed us both dead.’

‘But why would you be a threat at that stage?’ Jasmine asked. ‘You couldn’t connect them to the Ramsay disappearance, only to your father.’

‘But my father wasn’t the only person they were afraid of me connecting them to.’

‘Who, then?’ Catherine demanded, her tone mirroring Jasmine’s own surprise and impatience.

‘Three million quid’s worth of heroin isn’t going to be much good to three retired cops unless they fancy spending their autumn years selling tenner bags in pub lavvies. There’s got to be a buyer lined up.’

Fallan turned to address Abercorn.

‘You’re the organised crime expert,’ he said. ‘What’s Tony McGill up to these days?’

Abercorn grimaced a little, as though having to dig deeper and more obscurely into his mental files than he’d been expecting.

‘Served the best part of two decades after getting busted in Liverpool having just bought enough drugs to service Motley Crue for a century. He always claimed it was a set-up, but then so did OJ.’

‘He was set up,’ Fallan replied. ‘Just not by the cops, as his personal mythology maintains. But that’s ancient history. What about now?’

‘He got out six years ago. His son, also Tony, you know him?’

‘Teej. Living proof that talent often skips a generation.’

‘Yeah. He took charge of the family business, with Tony senior pressing the remote control from inside. It wasn’t a golden age, fair to say. After all those years there wasn’t much of an empire for Tony to return to. He was over sixty when he got out. He’s sixty-seven, sixty-eight now. Not exactly an up-and-comer.’

‘Gangsters aren’t like CID. There’s no statutory retirement.’

‘Certainly old Tony still sees himself as a bit of a player, but everybody else sees him as a bit of a joke. Yesterday’s man. Still got a lot of connections, but the folk who know his name are getting older and fewer. Still got the same old problems, too. Doesn’t have a line of his own to a supplier. Worst of it is, his big fears all came true while he was inside.’