There had been no answer at Frankie’s flat when Logan had rung up from the outside intercom. He’d picked a few other flats to call, and had tried a variety of techniques to convince them to buzz him in, from identifying himself as polis to pretending to be a neighbour who’d lost their keys, but with no success. Even the usually reliable method of claiming to be from the fire brigade was met with failure, the residents of this particular block having heard it all before.

“What now, boss?” asked Tyler. He was looking up to the top of the high-rise, bent so far back he was starting to resemble a letter C. “Do we hang around and see if he comes back?”

Logan stepped back from the door, then cast his eye over the area immediately around them. Each of the large Wyndford tower blocks had its own car park, as well as a row of run-down garages with different coloured doors, tucked away around the back.

They’d driven past a basketball court and kids play area on the way in. Logan hadn’t been able to get a clear look at their faces, but it had been clear that none of the people hanging around there had been children for a very long time.

“Come on, we’ll go for a wander and see if we can spot him,” he suggested, shoving his hands in his coat pockets and setting off in the direction of the play area.

DC Neish spent a few more seconds staring up at the block of flats, then hurried to catch up. “Imagine living right at the top of that. Eh, boss?”

“Aye,” Logan said.

He waited for the inevitable comment about the lift.

“Imagine the lift was out of order.”

“Aye, that’d be rough, right enough,” Logan agreed.

“I’m sure it’s a cracking view from up there. Not my cup of tea, though.” Tyler gave a shudder. “You know me and heights, boss. Did I tell you I once fell off a bridge after nearly getting hit by a train?”

Logan made a sound that was halfway to being a laugh. “You may have mentioned it once or twice, aye.”

They walked on, falling into step without noticing. Force of habit. Or a habit of being on the force, maybe. That ‘synchronised stepping’ was one of the first things you learned on the beat. Nobody ever taught you it, or even mentioned it, but most Uniforms picked it up in the first few days, and those that didn’t rarely lasted long.

A couple of cars went roaring past, both of them over ten years old, and both blaring something Logan was led to believe was what passed for music these days. Fortunately, the over-revving of their engines, and the occasional backfired bang drowned most of the racket out.