‘I know, I know, I’m sorry.’ Logan shifted the mobile from one side to the other, pinning it between his ear and his shoulder as he took the battered Fiat Punto around the Clinterty roundabout, heading back along the dual carriageway towards Aberdeen. ‘You know what she’s like.’

Samantha sighed. ‘Logan McRae, you’re not supposed to let her walk all over you any more. You know that. We talked about this.’

He changed gear and put his foot down. The Punto’s diesel engine coughed and rattled, struggling to haul the car up the hill. ‘I’m going to be a little late.’

‘Pfff. . . I’ll forgive you this time.’

‘Good. I’ll even—’

‘On one condition: you wash the dishes.’

‘Why’s it always my turn to wash the dishes? ’

‘Because you’re too cheap to buy a dishwasher.’ There was a pause. ‘Or a decent car.’

A Toyota iQ wheeched past in the outside lane. One-litre engine, and it was still faster than the bloody Punto.

‘I’m not cheap, I’m just—’

‘“Prudent” is another way of saying “cheap”. Why I put up with you, I have no idea.’ But it sounded as if she was smiling as she said it. ‘Don’t be too late. And stand up for yourself next time!’

‘Promise.’ Logan hung up and fumbled with the buttons until the words ‘DS RENNIE’ appeared on the screen.

Ringing. . . Ringing. . . Ringing. . . Then, ‘Mmmph, nnnng. . .’ A yawn. A groan. ‘Time is it? ’

Logan checked. ‘Just gone ten.’

‘Urgh. . .’ Scuffing noises. ‘I’m not on till midnight.’

‘Yeah, well I was supposed to be off at five, so I think I’m winning the “Who Gets To Whinge About Their Day” game, don’t you? Jewellery heist.’

‘Hold on. . .’ A clunk, followed by what sounded like someone pouring a bottle of lemonade into a half-filled bath. ‘Unnnng. . .’

For God’s sake.

Logan grimaced. ‘You better not be in the toilet!’

A long, suspicious-sounding pause. ‘I’m not in the toilet, I’m . . . in the kitchen . . . making a cup of tea.’

Disgusting little sod.

‘I want a list of suspects for that jewellery heist before you clock off, understand? Go round the pawnshops, the resetters, and every other scumbag we’ve ever done for accepting stolen goods.’

‘But it’s the middle of the—’

‘I don’t care if you have to drag them out of their beds: you get me that list. Or better yet, an arrest!’

‘But I’m—’

‘And while we’re at it, what’s happening with those hate crimes? ’

‘It’s not. . . I. . .’ His voice broke into a full-on whine. ‘What am I supposed to do? I’m on night shift!’