Wee Hamish smiled at him. ‘Look at this skirmish between the local lads and our Oriental friends: fighting over cannabis farms. A small thing, but it’ll get out of hand without someone sensible at the helm. People will always want drugs, Logan. And as long as people want them, someone will supply them. Supply and demand. Controlling it as a central entity means continuity, cuts down on conflict, keeps everyone safe and in their place.’

‘So what am I supposed to do, swap my warrant card for a claw-hammer? ’

He reached across and laid a twitching hand on top of Logan’s. The skin was papery; hot as if something deep inside was burning.

‘You should do whatever you think best.’

Like run a bloody mile.

Logan parked the crumbling Fiat next to DCI Steel’s MX5, successfully lowering the tone of the whole rear podium. Then leaned forward until his head rested against the steering wheel and stifled a yawn, mobile phone still clamped to his ear. ‘He basically told me I had to kill Reuben.’

Samantha made a sooking noise, like she was a car mechanic about to deliver very bad news. ‘Maybe he’s right? ’

‘I can’t kill—’

‘What if he came after me, would you kill him then? Because if not you’re in trouble, buster!’

‘Well, yes, but that’s—’

‘What if he hurt Jasmine? Or your brother? Or your mum? . . . Well, maybe not your mum, but the others? ’

‘I’m a police officer.’

‘You’re a wimp, more like. Remember the talk we had about growing a pair? ’

Someone knocked on the passenger window, and Logan flinched. He turned his head and looked across the car. DCI Steel peered in at him, mouthing something and pointing at her watch.

Back to the phone, voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I don’t want to kill anyone.’

‘Might not have any choice.’ And Samantha was gone.

Logan stuck the phone in his pocket and climbed out. ‘What? ’

‘Where the hell have you been? ’

‘Dr Graham wants to do a facial reconstruction on the skeleton too.’

‘Aye, I’ll bet she does. I’m no’ made of money.’ Steel hauled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one off her battered Zippo. ‘The Weegie buggers get here at two. I need a suspect, Laz.’

He locked the car and made for the steps down to the mortuary. ‘How about Agnes Garfield: your missing teenager.’

Steel clumped along behind him. ‘She’s only a kid.’

‘She’s eighteen, obsessed with this Witchfire book, psychotic, and off her medication.’