Maybe that would be the easiest thing. Leave it to them. But it would look odd. He’d never turn down a job like that. Never. He had to go.

‘Siobhan, I’m only two minutes from my car. Tell them I’ll be there in under ten minutes. And don’t let them start without me.’

‘Okay, Tony. Will do.’

‘Thanks, Siobhan.’

‘Um, Tony? Don’t you want to know where in Kinning Park?’

Shit.

The good news was that there wasn’t much traffic on the Kingston Bridge and he was able to hammer it from the station car park to the factory in just seven minutes. His camera gear was in the boot and so was a jacket that would cover his sweaty, dirt-streaked T-shirt.

He was no more than halfway along the adjoining street when he could see that the place wasn’t as it had been on his first visit. The low whitewashed walls of the building on the corner were flashing blue. When he turned into the street itself, he was greeted by a small army of emergency vehicles and the hurried to and fro of organized chaos.

The car sealed off most of the noise and it was like gliding into a silent movie that was just waiting for him to star in it. He pulled up and parked, breathed deeply and opened the door to let the sound of the scene burst in. No going back now.

He hustled to the boot quickly, pulled the dark green waterproof over his T-shirt and grabbed his gear. The cop at the tape gave his ID the once-over and nodded him inside. There were footsteps clattering everywhere and urgent voices calling through the darkness. Beyond those were the edges of lights that would have led him to the actual scene if he hadn’t already known just where to go.

The inner courtyard was less than a minute away. He had no idea who’d taken the call but hoped to hell it wasn’t Rachel. That would mean more questions than he had answers to. Anyone, anyone but her.

He pushed his way into the light, dazzled by it and having to shield his eyes until they adjusted. At first all he could see were the lights themselves and the white suits that flitted through the glare. Shapes began to form but not before a voice called to him through the shimmer.

‘Winter. Get your arse over here pronto. Come on, we’ve waited long enough.’

It was almost as bad as it being Rachel. It was DCI Denny Kelbie, one of the most carnaptious little shits ever to join the police force. Five foot five inches of perpetual malice and grudge. At his side was his regular DS, Jim Ferry, a lazy sod who had adopted his boss’s antipathy to the world.

One thing though. Kelbie had called him by name and acted just the arsey way he normally would. If the call to the cops had mentioned Winter then Kelbie would have had him by the throat.

‘Hurry up. Get this done and get out of my way.’ Kelbie was always itching for a fight but this night, more than any other, Winter couldn’t give him the satisfaction of one. He needed to protect himself.

‘Yes, sir. Just let the dog see the rabbit.’ He had to control himself, not let any of it show. Kelbie would be all over it if he even suspected Winter had something to hide. He didn’t look the DCI in the eye, didn’t dare, just brushed past him and took up position over the body. Kelbie was snapping away at him like a Jack Russell but Winter shut the words out, tried his best to shut everything out, and do what he always did.

Remy Feeks was colder now, paler too. The last traces of life had drained away in the time it had taken Winter to flee and return. He was more dead. The kid hadn’t stood a chance. He’d been caught up in something that he wasn’t equipped to deal with and it had killed him.

Winter managed to get his camera to his eye and forced his finger through the shutter release. He photographed Remy laid out in full, the iron railing through his chest, his head resting on a broken brick in an ugly concrete graveyard. The building had died years ago and now it had another ghost to walk with its own.

He looked so young, even younger than he had done in the Botanics or Oran Mor. His freckles stood out against the alabaster of his bloodless skin, making him look like a teenager. He had no right to be lying there dead. None whatsoever.

Winter focused on the cold edge of the railing where it entered the kid, seeing it pierce his shirt and rip his skin. Remy had been dead before the spike was hammered into him: that much was obvious from the lack of blood on his chest. The railing had been an afterthought, a statement.

The death blow had been to the head: a fierce wound on the right temple was testament to that. It had rattled his brains, a fatal blunt-force trauma. Most probably using the same railing that was stuck through him. There was another wound that had smashed his left cheek, leaving the bone shattered like eggshell. A swing to the killer’s right then the same to the left. One stunning, one killing.

The boy’s mouth hung open, mid-shout, mid-scream, mid-plea. Maybe he was just asking why. Why him. Why this. He was so skinny, all angles and ridges. It couldn’t have been any sort of fair fight. Someone bigger and stronger, armed with the iron railing and a hunger to kill. Winter knew he should have done something to stop it before it got to this.

A pair of black shoes with thick heels stepped into the shot beside Remy’s head. They tapped impatiently and there was no doubt who they belonged to. Winter let the camera drift up with his eyes, the shutter hammering as he went, photographing Kelbie until he caught the twisted impatience on the DCI’s face. When he’d done so, he switched his gaze and his lens back to Remy, saying nothing. He knew Kelbie was mouthing off at him, spitting out words furiously, but he didn’t hear and didn’t care. He was doing his job the best he could. He owed that to Remy Feeks.

When he was done, he backed away from the body and stood to take the inevitable onslaught of bitterness from Kelbie. The little man was so angry with the world that it was probably a long time since he’d stopped to wonder why. For that minute it was Winter, for the next it would be the rain or the lack of it. It would always be something.

‘You can’t get to the job on time and then you arse around taking unnecessary photographs. Inappropriate photographs. Campbell Baxter is right about you. The sooner you get shifted out of here the better. You’re a waste of fucking space.’

‘Is that right?’

Kelbie bristled, his lips curling back into a snarl. ‘Aye it is right, you cheeky shite. I’m going to see to it that your arse doesn’t hit the door on the way out of Forensic Services.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Winter, you are asking to have your head kicked as well as your arse. Watch your step.’

‘Is that right?’

He knew it wasn’t wise but he could feel the anger rising in him and wasn’t sure he could stop it. Euan Hepburn, Remy Feeks, it was all falling on top of him at once. And now this. Maybe he should just headbutt Kelbie and be done with all of it. He pulled his head back and waited for the DCI to say one more word.

Instead Kelbie beat him to the punch, stepping forward so close that Winter could feel Kelbie’s breath on his face and he couldn’t throw his head forward at him. The man’s eyes were wild and Winter knew all he had to do was lean back and one of them would stick the nut on the other.

‘Boss!’ Jim Ferry’s arm came between them and for a second Winter thought that Kelbie was going to take a bite at it. ‘Back off, boss. There’s a crime scene full of witnesses here. Think about it.’

Winter just stared at the DCI, daring him to make a decision. Kelbie snarled wide-eyed but didn’t push forward, his DS’s words percolating slowly through his fury. He raised a hand and pushed it flat against Winter’s chest, shoving space between them and turning away with a final glare.

‘This isn’t finished,’ he called over his shoulder.