Ferry shrugged but looked at his watch. ‘The call was made fifty minutes ago. So maybe ten, fifteen minutes between death and the guy calling it in.’

Whoever had killed Feeks had phoned the police. Why? Why?

She made up her mind to look round the rest of the factory, not expecting to see anything that had been missed but just because she had to do something. Also, it gave her time to think and a little more time before she had to make a visit that she was dreading.

Narey breathed deeply as she stood in front of the door of the flat in Adelaide Street. It really didn’t get any easier but this was going to be more difficult than most. She became aware that she was feeling the same depths of anxiety she did before she stepped into her dad’s care home. Not knowing what reception she was going to get but doubting it would be good. She paused again, made a silent prayer then knocked.

After a few moments, the door swung back but, rather than Archie Feeks, she was greeted by a rounded, middle-aged woman wearing a raincoat over a black turtleneck jumper. Narey held her warrant card up.

The woman responded by lifting the card on a lanyard round her neck. She kept her voice low. ‘Jill Henderson. Family Liaison. I only got here five minutes ago. As requested I haven’t said anything but he’s very worried. He’s asked me three times if anything has happened to his son.’

She cursed herself for getting there after the FLO. It wasn’t going to have helped the old man’s state of mind to have been kept waiting and worrying.

‘What have you told him?’

‘Only that you were on your way and you were in a better position to talk to him. That you had all the relevant information.’

‘Okay, thanks. But I wish that were true.’

‘Sorry?’

‘All the relevant information. There’s far too much that I don’t know. He’s in the living room?’

Henderson gave the briefest of nods.

Narey went through the door and saw the man sitting in his armchair, his body small and tight with the fear of anticipation. He looked up to see her standing there and she saw him shrink even further.

‘Mr Feeks, I’m really sorry to—’

‘No!’ He was on his feet, his eyes wide. ‘No, no, no. Don’t. Not in my house. No. You can’t.’

‘Mr Feeks, your son . . .’

His hands flew to his ears, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth twisted in pain. He must have been sitting imagining the worst since the liaison officer turned up and now it was ticking in front of him, ready to explode. She recognized the signs of denial: he was like her dad when he was corrected on things he didn’t want to believe.

Archie spun on his heels, unable to look at them. Henderson moved warily across the room towards him, her arms seemingly changing their minds as to whether to reach out to him. She stood close but let him breathe.

Narey had no choice but to finish what she’d started.

‘Mr Feeks, I know this is not what you want to hear but I need to tell you it. A body was found tonight in the former Gray Dunn building in Kinning Park.’

‘No!’

His yelps were painful and she wanted to soothe them but, for the moment at least, could only make them worse.

‘We believe that the body is your son, Remy.’

The man doubled at the waist, his arms hugged round himself. His breathing was convulsive, drinking from a well that was suddenly empty. All colour drained from him and Narey feared a heart attack as well as the loss of breath.

He was as pale as the horse that death rode, ageing before their eyes. His hands trembled and silent tears streamed down his cheeks as he coughed. He sucked in air hard, expelling it again just as quickly as his body went into overdrive. Narey was well used to holding her emotions in check but this was hard. She just wanted to hug him.

It was a couple of minutes, every second of it an age of agony for all of them, before Archie had settled enough to speak. He looked at the liaison officer beside him.

‘Is it definitely him?’

Narey answered. ‘Yes, Mr Feeks. It is.’

He got shakily to his feet, his face contorted in anger.

‘I didn’t ask you.’ He jabbed a finger towards Narey.‘You said you’d look out for my son. You said you’d look after him. You told me not to worry. Well how’s that worked out for me, eh? Not so fucking good, I’d say. So don’t mind me if I don’t want to listen to what you’ve got to say.’

‘Mr Feeks—’

‘I don’t want to hear it, hen. I don’t want to hear anything from you. Not a word.’

Jill Henderson stepped between them, the FLO taking the man gently by the arm. He shrugged her hand off but still let her guide him back into the chair. Henderson kneeled to talk to him but the man’s eyes were beyond her, glaring at Narey.

‘Is there anyone you’d like me to call, Mr Feeks?’ Henderson was asking. ‘Someone who can come and sit with you. A relative or a friend, maybe?’

‘No. I just want to see my son.’

‘I understand that and DI Narey will make sure that—’

‘No! I don’t want her to do anything. I don’t want her near me or my laddie. Do you understand that? I just want to see my son and I want her the fuck away from me. Get her out of my house. Now.’

She was helpless and scorned, knowing she’d let him down and could do nothing to put it right. All she could do was have someone else care for him. Someone to do what she couldn’t.

The FLO turned and looked at Narey, both of them knowing Henderson didn’t have the authority to tell her to leave as the man wanted. There was a higher authority though and Narey knew it. She wouldn’t stay.

She wanted to tell the man that she was sorry for his loss, that she’d do everything in her power to bring him some justice and that she burned with guilt for letting it happen. She couldn’t do any of that though, not to any good purpose.

She nodded at them both and let herself out, a little piece of her dying inside as she crossed the threshold.

Chapter 49

Sunday morning

She managed four hours in bed and slept for maybe three of those. She couldn’t shake the tortured image of Archie Feeks any more than she could rid her thoughts of his son lying murdered amid the rubble.

Half-awake or half-asleep, she hadn’t been able to tell the difference. Her mind worked it over and over in both states and when she was finally sure that she was awake and getting up, she was exhausted before the day had begun.

It was still dark when she rolled into the station, flipping the lights on in the incident room and watching them flicker slowly into life. The place would be buzzing before long, full of bodies and shouts, people demanding to know what had happened and where the hell it left them. She didn’t know what she was going to tell them.

She had to be in first, to get her thoughts into some sort of proper order. If she didn’t know the answers then at least she had to be aware of the questions. And she’d ask more of the team, get them to ask more of themselves. Some of them would be on board more than others and some of them would wallow in it, relishing seeing her fail. Fuck them. This all had to stop and she’d be the one to do it.

She fixed a poster-sized portrait of Remy Feeks to the wall, standing back to see him alongside Euan Hepburn, Jennifer Cairns, David McGlashan, Christopher Hart and Derek Wharton. Below each was a photograph of the site where they were found, urbexing sites all. She stared at them for an age, weighing up what she knew and what she didn’t. The latter was way too much for her liking.