It was an unspoken agreement among all polis everywhere, Logan thought. If you laughed, and you joked—all of you, together—then the system worked. A shared delusion was created, that this was all normal, this was all fine. You laughed, and you joked, and the demons were kept at bay.

For a while, anyway.

“‘Tatties has had his Chips,’” Logan suggested, and there were smiles all round. Relief, mostly. The system was still working. Shields were still raised. Logan checked his watch. “I need to get up the road shortly for the PM,” he announced, then he pointed to Hamza and jabbed a thumb at the Big Board. “But before I do, DS Khaled, tell us what you’ve got.”

Chapter Fourteen

Two hours later, Logan entered the Pathology Department at Raigmore Hospital, and found a cadaver sitting propped up at Shona’s desk.

“Jesus,” he ejected, then the man at the desk tilted his head upwards, and Logan realised that despite appearances he was, in fact, somehow still clinging to life.

Dr Albert Rickett—better known as Ricketts to anyone he’d worked with in the past twenty years—sat back in the chair. Something creaked, but Logan couldn’t decide if it was the wooden seat, or the old man himself.

“Ah. Detective Chief Inspector Logan,” Ricketts intoned, raising one feathery white eyebrow. The way he’d said it, Logan thought, suggested the man should be stroking a white cat, while subtly reaching for the switch that would drop the DCI into a tank of hungry piranhas.

“Albert,” Logan said, giving the older man a curt nod. “Thought you’d retired? Again. After that whole failure to recognise a murder victim when you saw one thing with the Snowman case.”

“Iceman,” the pathologist corrected. “And yes, I did. I have. Mostly. I’m just lending a hand. Big case. Lot to get through. Thought I’d chip in.”

“Very noble of you.”

Ricketts shrugged, and Logan would have sworn he heard the bones in his shoulders rattling together. “It was this or painting,” he said, then he tapped the side of his head with a finger that was all knuckles. “Important to keep the brain active.”

“Aye. Fair enough,” Logan said, keen to get this part of his day wrapped up quickly.

Ricketts had apparently been thinking the same thing, and there were a few more creaks and groans as he turned and indicated the swing doors on the far wall. “Dr Maguire is just finishing up now,” he said. “She’s been expecting you.”

Mr Bond, Logan added silently, then he thanked the old man, got himself masked and gloved up at the PPE station, and pushed through into the unwelcoming cold of the mortuary.