‘Guv? ’ PC Guthrie had changed out of his all-black-ninja-police officer uniform and into a tweed sports coat and a pair of jeans, as if he was channelling the spirit of Jeremy Clarkson. He smiled, the fair hair and pale eyebrows looking like mould on his happy potato face. ‘Over here.’ Guthrie shifted his chair over a couple of hops, and pointed at an empty one beside him. ‘Great band, eh? ’

Logan settled into the seat, the other three people at the table rearranging their chairs to make room for him. PC Hannah had a big droopy smile on her face, eyes heavy and lidded in her wobbly head, dark wiry hair sticking out in a frizzy crash helmet. PC Stringer covered his mouth for a belch, blinked a couple of times, then went back to making little knots out of empty crisp packets. Forehead creased up in concentration.

Contestant number three was Dr Graham, sipping what was either a huge gin-and-tonic or a pint of sparkling water. She leaned forward. ‘I should have a face for you by mid-morning tomorrow.’

Stringer patted her on the shoulder. ‘Your round, April. Can we . . . can we have more crisps? ’

Hannah banged a hand down on the table, making the empties clink and rattle. ‘Eating’s cheating!’

‘Making a night of it then? ’

Guthrie shrugged, then drained the last of his latte. ‘Supporting the troops.’

Another thump. ‘Drink!’

‘OK, OK. Drink it is.’ Dr Graham stood and gathered up an armful of empties. ‘DI McRae? ’

‘Not for me, thanks. Got one coming.’

She shuffled off, looking as if she was carrying nitroglycerine rather than a few empty glasses, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

Up on the wee stage, the song jangled to the end and applause crackled around the room, along with the occasional whoop.

The singer let it die down, then her voice boomed out of the speakers. ‘Thanks, guys, here’s a number we haven’t done in a little while, it’s called “The Importance of Being Idle”.’ And off they went again.

Logan turned and peered over his shoulder, through the crowd. ‘Is that Constable Sim up there? ’

Guthrie nodded. ‘Every other Monday. Good, aren’t they? ’ He cleared his throat, leaned in close, not quite shouting over the band. ‘Have you talked to Rennie recently, only he’s on a real moan about this tramp thing.’

‘It’s all he ever does these days: moan.’

‘I know, but he looks up to you and. . .’ Guthrie sat upright, cranking up the smile. ‘Chalmers, thought you weren’t going to make it? ’

DS Chalmers stood to attention, nodding at Logan. ‘Sir. Can I get anyone a drink? ’

‘Nah, you’re good – April’s just gone up for—’

There was a crash of broken glass, then a cheer and some swearing. Dr Graham strikes again.