There was a small pause, then Insch blinked. ‘I see where you’re coming from. . . But if she takes backup then we don’t get that sense of deep primordial threat when she finds Issobell Barroun’s body.’

‘But—’

‘And she doesn’t want Mrs Shepherd finding out, does she? If one of the team’s compromised, then everything becomes a lot more dangerous.’

A little frown pulled at the fake scar on her face. ‘So what you’re saying is: at this point, Rowan’s the only person Rowan can trust? She’s isolating herself and that emphasizes her core vulnerability. . . It’s a metaphor for her need to be loved. Yes, I can work with that. . .’ Then Nichole looked over and gifted Logan with a smile. ‘Sorry, I’m such a drama queen when it comes to getting the scene right.’ She hauled off a black leather glove and stuck out her hand. A network of shiny scar tissue traced its way across the skin of her wrist. ‘Nichole Fyfe.’

Logan took her hand – slightly damp – and shook it. ‘DI McRae. I used to work with . . . David.’ Still felt strange using his first name.

‘Right – Logan McRae. I’m sure David’s mentioned you.’ The smile got brighter for a second, then she picked at the fabric of her shirt, pulling it away from her armpits. ‘Sorry, been under the studio lights all day, I’m a mess. Anyway, it’s been great. I’m sure I’ll see you later.’ And she was gone, scribbling something down in the margins of her script.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Insch sagged, massaging his forehead with the fingers of one hand. ‘It’ll be worth it, it’ll be worth it. . .’ Deep breath. ‘Whatever happened to just turning up on time and knowing your lines? Now everyone’s a method-acting nutjob pain in the arse: “What’s my motivation, would my character really think that in this situation, what’s the emotional heart of the scene. . .?” Every bloody day.’

Another carrot stick disappeared. Then he turned and stalked back down the corridor.

Logan followed him. ‘Seems nice enough to me.’

‘You know we send her a car every morning? With a driver, a punnet of raspberries, and three bottles of Perrier. Has to be Perrier, any other brand and she flies off in a strop. It’s fizzy bloody water, not insulin. If she deigns to turn up at all. Four hours we were waiting for her this morning. Four hours.’

‘So fire her.’