Chalmers looked left, then right, then marched off and came back a minute later with another chair. Parked it next to Logan. ‘Hoped I’d bump into you, sir. I went through DS Rennie’s notes for the hate crimes, and I think I’ve got a connection. All the victims are male, from the Far East, and none of them are prepared to make a statement.’

‘That’s your connection? ’

‘No.’ She opened her mouth. Then closed it again. Had another go: ‘Well, yes it is, but think about it: if you’ve been attacked by a bunch of racist morons, why lie to protect them? Why not cooperate with the police? Wouldn’t you want them arrested and locked up? ’

He shook his head. ‘Not that much of a shock, is it? Whoever beat them up threatens to come back and finish the job if they speak to the police. Poor sods are too scared to stick their hands up and ask for help.’

‘But what if it’s more than that? What if our victims are involved in something illegal too? ’

‘And they can’t talk without incriminating themselves.’ Possible.

‘What if—’

A gravelly voice sounded right behind her. ‘Hoy, Curly-top, budge up.’ Steel was back.

Chalmers stood. ‘Sorry, ma’am. Would you like my seat? ’

Steel smiled. ‘Blatant sucking up, but I’m cool with that.’ She thumped a pint glass down on the table in front of Logan: black with a white head.

He sniffed at it. ‘I don’t drink Guinness, I drink Stella. You know that.’

‘Tough nipples. They’re no’ giving Stella away half-price if you flash your warrant card, are they? ’ She creaked into the vacated seat, clutching a large white wine and what had to be a triple whisky. ‘Anyway, it’s good for you.’

‘You drink it then.’

Steel shuddered, then took a sip of wine. ‘No chance. Bloody stuff tastes like licking a leprechaun’s bumhole.’

Chalmers shuffled her feet. ‘I like Guinness.’

Logan pushed the pint towards her. ‘Knock yourself out.’

‘. . .thanks, everyone! We’re Burn this City Down, and we’ll be back after a short break: Jane needs a pee, and the rest of us need Tequila!’ A huge round of applause went up, and the band followed the blushing bass player offstage.

Steel settled back in her seat and had a scratch at her left armpit, lips puckered, staring at PC Hannah. ‘Come on then.’

The constable gave her a slow-motion blink – one eye lagging behind the other – then smiled, chin pulled into her neck, giving birth to chins. ‘Shoot Jamie. Shag Nigella. Marry Delia? ’

Steel threw her head back and roared a laugh at the ceiling.