A sharp-edged smile pulled at her lips. ‘Reuben was here with me the whole time. At it like rabbits, we was. He’s a very sensuous lover.’

Dear God, now there was a mental image that’d take a wire brush and Dettol to shift. ‘He wasn’t, he was outside my bloody caravan.’

‘Nah, you must’ve walked into a door or something. Think you can blame it on poor Reuben, when he’s never done nothing to no one. You’re a lying bastard.’

Logan took a step towards her.

She unfolded her arms, both fists clenched like bags of rocks. The smile grew wider. ‘Come on then.’

He stopped. Took a deep breath. Counted to five. ‘I need to see Hamish.’

‘Mr Mowat’s indisposed.’

‘I’m not buggering about here, I need to speak—’

‘You need to back up your rusty wee hatchback and get the hell off Mr Mowat’s property, that’s what you need to do.’

Logan pulled out his warrant card. ‘Understand? ’

She tilted her head to one side, making a crescent moon of chin-fat. ‘You got a search warrant? ’Cos if you don’t, you can— Hey! Come back here!’

No chance.

He marched around the side of the house, the sound of Nurse Slessor’s trainers crunching on the gravel behind him. For a wee chunky lass, she was quick.

The path wrapped all the way around the house, and round the back the place opened up in a wide swathe of emerald green lawn, punctuated with trees and bushes, a flower bed in full Technicolor riot.

‘Come back here!’

The conservatory doors were open, leading out onto a raised decking area surrounded by roses growing in big wooden tubs. Wee Hamish’s wheelchair was parked in the sunshine, a tartan blanket draped over his knees, an oxygen mask on his face. Head down, shoulders slumped.

Logan climbed the steps.

A voice came from the garden, shouting over the drone of a lawnmower. Reuben. ‘Chloe? What’s wrong? ’

‘He’s back!’

Wee Hamish twitched, left hand trembling on the blanket. ‘Mmmpht? ’ Then he blinked watery red-rimmed eyes at Logan. ‘Nnngnn, tmmmwht dn we nnn. . .? ’

Nurse Slessor thumped up the stairs onto the decking. Grabbed Logan by the arm. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Mowat, I told him you were asleep, but he wouldn’t—’

‘Get off me.’ Logan shook her free. ‘Hamish, we need to talk. And we need to talk now.’

Wee Hamish reached up and pulled off the oxygen mask. ‘Logan. . .’ A smile. ‘To what do we owe the honour? ’

‘I told him, but he wouldn’t listen.’ She grabbed Logan’s arm again. ‘Reuben!’

A crackle of feet on gravel, puffing and heeching, and then Reuben’s voice growled up from the garden. ‘Bloody hell you doing here? ’

‘Hamish, I mean it.’

Thump – a steel-toecapped boot on the bottom step. ‘Did you not learn your lesson last time? ’