‘That will do nicely. What do you need to know?’

‘I’m looking for information on a company called Saturn Property. Could you let me know what you have on them? And while you’re at it, its managing director. A sleazeball by the name of Mark Singleton.’

‘Saturn is familiar but I’ll need to look up what we have. It will be tomorrow before I get back to you. It will take a bit of time and I work office hours these days. That okay?’

It wasn’t ideal but it would have to do.

‘And, Jacko, could you check if you have any info on links between Saturn and Mullen Security?’

There was a long pause. ‘Bobby Mullen’s firm? That explains why Saturn’s name is familiar. If I’m right they had one or two fires at their properties and Mullen’s name has come up in connection with it. I’ll get it for you.’

‘Thanks, Jacko. It’s appreciated.’

‘Whatever this is about, watch yourself, Rachel. Bobby Mullen isn’t known for taking prisoners.’

Chapter 16

Winter climbed the stairs to Narey’s Highburgh Road flat with a heavy step. He’d spent most of the previous night thinking about what he would say. Or even if he would say anything at all.

He’d almost blurted it out the day before, standing over the body at the Odeon with all that running through his head. A bit of him had known when he was in the Molendinar. Maybe he’d known as soon as he’d heard a body was in there. But when the second victim turned up at the Renfield Street site . . . he’d had no doubt at all.

For a while he conned himself by saying that she wouldn’t want to hear it. That he was only there to take photographs and everything else should be left to the police. God knows she’d used that line or a variation of it on him often enough. If he heeded the well-worn advice then he’d just keep his theories to himself.

Except he was sure it was more than a theory. More than a coincidence. And there was more, the voice whispering at him was back. It nagged away at him no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

She met him at the door with a kiss and two glasses of wine. She let her arms slump round his neck for a while, the wine expertly upright, and her head on his shoulder.

‘Long day?’

Her voice came back muffled. ‘Uh huh.’

‘Worse than usual?’

She lifted her head. ‘Yep. I was already juggling a fair bit but two murders in a week have put it onto another planet.’

‘You think they’re connected?’ He wasn’t sure if he wanted a yes or a no. Maybe she’d get there without whatever help he had to offer.

‘What? No, nothing to suggest it. I’ve got a line I want to follow for the Odeon. It doesn’t link to the Molendinar though. I’m ruling nothing in and ruling nothing out.’

‘I’m getting the official press line? At least it wasn’t No Comment.’

‘Oh shut up and come through. I need to sit down, have someone to lie against and share wine with me. What do you say?’

‘I can just about manage that.’

Winter sat at one end of the leather sofa in the front room and she lay along its length with her head in his lap, the wine glass on the floor by her side. He let his right hand trail along the length of her body, occasionally resting and squeezing as the moment seemed right.

She made appreciative noises and her body lifted towards him. ‘That feels good. I wish I had the energy to do something about it.’

‘I could do the work and you could lie there and think of Scotland.’

‘The day that’s the way it works then we’re both in trouble. We’ll scratch that itch soon enough, just not tonight.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ He stroked her hair and sipped slowly at his own Rioja.

‘Did you see the DCI tonight?’ He could hear the tiredness in her voice. He and Addison were best pals and drinking buddies.

‘Hmm? Yes. We had a couple of pints in the Station Bar after work.’

‘Thought you might have. So what was he saying about my murder cases? I can’t imagine it didn’t come up in conversation. Come on, spill.’

‘He’s going to chat to you about the Odeon tomorrow. Don’t quote me but I think he’s going to come in on that one. He’s worried you’re getting overloaded.’

She sat upright, nearly knocking the wine glass over. ‘Is he saying I can’t cope?’

Winter laughed and gently pushed her back down. ‘You know he’s not. Anyway, you were saying you had so much on your plate.’

‘I know, but I get to say it. So that was it? Just that he was going to pitch in?’

‘Pretty much. So what’s the line you’re following for the Odeon body?’

An elbow came back and caught him in the stomach. ‘You know the rules.’

‘And I know we’ve broken them often enough.’

‘Not this time, lover. Anyway, it’s not much more than a hunch at this stage. The owners have a dodgy connection and I want to check it out.’

‘Okay.’ It wasn’t really okay. He wanted to know more but he’d change the subject for now. ‘Have you spoken to your dad tonight?’

Her eyes closed over and she blew a thin sigh between her lips. ‘I called him. Didn’t get a whole lot of sense though and he didn’t know who I was. I cut it short because he was getting distressed.’

Winter massaged her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. ‘Sorry. I know how hard it is when he doesn’t know you.’

‘It’s harder for him. All of it.’

‘I know. But still—’

He was cut off by a text alert on her phone and she manoeuvred a hand beneath her to pluck it from her back pocket. Whatever she saw revitalized her immediately.

‘From Kirsten Fairweather. She’s emailed me the facial reconstruction of the Molendinar guy.’

With that she levered herself off him and hurried to fetch her laptop. In moments she was back, sitting alongside him this time as the computer booted up.

‘So what do you know about this guy? Off the record . . .’

She gave him a weary look before opening up her mail to find that, sure enough, there was an email from Kirsten. She clicked on it and waited for the image to build.

‘Strictly between us. He seemed to be homeless, living at the Rosewood Hotel. We think his name is Euan Hepburn. But . . .’

Clocks stopped and traffic noise disappeared. Winter’s world missed a beat. The reconstruction stared back at him from the screen. Narey’s eyes narrowed as she caught the look on his face.

‘Do you know him?’

His instinct was to lie but the truth was written all over him.

‘Yes. Well, I used to. Years ago.’

‘And is he Euan Hepburn?

‘Yes.’

‘Tony, are you okay? Did you know him well?’

This time he managed to lie. ‘No. Not really.’

She studied him for a bit, clearly doubting him and seeing how shocked he was. He had to give her something else.

‘I haven’t seen him in years. He’d moved to England to work, last I heard. I had no idea he was back in Glasgow. But he wasn’t homeless, I really doubt that.’

‘Then what? He had been staying in the Rosewood.’

‘Euan was a journalist. Freelance.’

She just nodded. ‘I thought he might be. Explains why he’d been asking so many questions.’

‘Questions about what? Or who?’

She put the shutters up again. He could see them rising on her face.

‘I don’t know yet. That’s what I need to find out. You didn’t recognize him in the Molendinar?’

Part of him had, he remembered that. The quiet voice that he’d been quick to dismiss. Maybe deeper down he’d known but hadn’t wanted it to be. Not Euan.

‘The body was so far gone. The decomposition . . .’