‘Positive.’ He pulled his mobile out and set it on silent. Put it away again. If Steel wanted to shout at him for dodging the National Police Improvement Authority review, she’d just have to wait.

Chalmers frowned out at the street. Every parking space was jammed with a shiny new hatchback or a Smart Car. ‘Look at them. When I went to uni, you know what I had? A bike. And some thieving sod nicked it halfway through first term.’

More students, dressed in long black jackets and little black sunglasses, backpacks over one shoulder, nodding along to a collective beat. Was The Matrix old enough now to be considered ironic? Or were they just goths, out for a bit of a mope?

Logan smiled. One of them had a Frisbee.

The phone vibrated in his pocket. Steel just couldn’t take a hint, could she? Like Agnes Garfield.

He looked down at the latest poster the media department had put together. Three different versions of Agnes’s face: the photo her parents handed over, the one from the cash-machine’s security camera, and a third one knocked up on the identikit software. They’d given her blonde hair, just in case. A pretty young woman with freckles and a warm smile. Brunette, redhead, blonde – surely someone would recognize her?

Logan popped the poster on the dusty dashboard. ‘What happened with the diary? ’

Silence.

For God’s sake. He stared at Chalmers. She stared straight ahead.

‘Sergeant, I told you to read it two days ago. Why haven’t—’

Her voice was sharp and brittle: ‘I was up till three this morning going through it. I wrote you a report and everything!’

‘You did? ’

‘Put it on your in-tray first thing this morning.’

‘Ah. . .’ Where it was probably buried under four tons of paperwork.

‘You didn’t even look at it, did you? ’ Mouth a thin hard line.

‘Didn’t even know it was there: Steel uses my in-tray as a dumping ground for all the stuff she can’t be arsed doing.’ He pointed at a shiny, tiny, red Alfa Romeo as it pulled away from the kerb. ‘Parking space.’

Chalmers slipped the scabby Punto into the still-warm spot. Then looked out of the window, face turned away from him. ‘I would’ve done it sooner, but there was everything else going.’

Logan undid his seatbelt. ‘I know the feeling. But next time, do me a favour and hand whatever it is to me in person. Put it right in my hand.’

A nod, still not looking at him. ‘Yes, Guv.’

‘In Grampian CID you only ever stick something in someone’s in-tray if you’re avoiding them, or you’re dumping something unpleasant on them and don’t want caught holding it. Think “Pass the Parcel”, only the prize is an exploding jobbie.’