‘Dave, we have to find her before she hurts anyone else. I need you to go talk to Professor Marks. It’s a murder investigation, I can get a warrant if I have to, but if he cooperates it’ll make everyone’s lives a lot easier.’

A deep breath. A nod. Then he stood, straightened the cuffs on his stripy shirt, and marched for the door. ‘Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll get Little Miss Stroppy to get you a pot of tea.’

Clunk. And they were alone in the room.

Chalmers sat on the chaise longue thing, then lay back on it, putting her feet up. ‘So . . . therapy, eh? ’

‘I’ve been stabbed, shot at, blown up, made to eat human flesh,’ Logan held up his left hand and showed her the two thin scars in the palm, ‘someone nailed my hand to the floor with a nail-gun, then tried to do the same with my head. Someone else set fire to my flat with me in it. My girlfriend’s still in the hospital after that one. . .’ He wandered over to the window, looking down on a patch of green dotted with trees. The goths from the High Street had heaped up their long black coats in a big pile so they could chase back and forth after the Frisbee, laughing and squealing like children. ‘So yes: they sent me for therapy. It was that or be invalided out.’

‘Oh. . .’ She cleared her throat. ‘Sorry, Guv. I didn’t. . . Sorry.’

Silence.

Yeah, everyone was always sorry.

‘Get on to Control: I want someone watching Agnes Garfield’s house. Round the clock. If she wants her personal stuff she’ll have to go back for it. Chase up the lookout call on Anthony Chung’s car too. And talk to the PF’s office: I want a warrant for searching Dr Marks’s files faxed over to this office within the hour.’

‘I thought you said we could kill two birds with one stone? ’

‘Just in case. You know what these academics are like, stroppy bunch of sods can’t—’

A crash sounded from somewhere down the corridor. Then the sound of raised voices filtered through.

‘Unprofessional bastard!’ Liverpool accent, so that would be Dave Goulding.

‘Get off me! Help! Someone call the police!’ And that wasn’t.

‘Oh crap. . .’ Chalmers scrambled out of the chaise longue and ran for the door.

Logan followed her, charging out into the reception area.

The receptionist was standing by the door to the corridor, one hand to her mouth, eyes gleaming as she shifted from foot to foot. She was muttering to herself, voice barely audible over the shouting and scuffling coming from outside. ‘Go on, hit him again, right in the balls. . .’

‘Agh! No biting!’

Logan stuck his head out of the office door. Dr Dave Goulding had a short bald man in a headlock and was dragging him – kicking and swearing – down the corridor towards them.

Chapter 29

29