‘Ding-Dong couldn’t find a hand grenade in a bowl of supposi-tories.’ Another angry puff. Then she dumped the book down on the desk. ‘Since you’re such a big fan, you can go talk to what’s-his-face the writer boy. And while we’re at it: we need someone to go tell Anthony Chung’s parents he’s dead.’

Logan blinked at her. ‘But that’s Ding-Dong’s case, and—’

‘Remember what I said about handing out jobbies to people who’ve pissed me off? Well right now, you’re at the top of the list. And since you did such a spectacular job of catching Agnes before she killed him,’ she shook a pair of jazz-hands at him, ‘this turd’s for you.’

Great.

‘Fine, I’ll tell his parents. Get one of them to come in and identify the body.’

Steel’s shoulders fell an inch. ‘Do you no’ think they’ve suffered enough? Four days mouldering away on a kitchen floor in May; he’s in no fit state to be seen by anyone. Even then, a visual ID’s going to be worthless. Just have to poke the labs till we get a DNA match from the teeth.’

Logan nodded, pulled his jacket back on again. ‘Goulding’s going to do us a profile. Gratis.’

‘As long as it’s free, he can skip bollock-naked up and down Holburn Street for all I care. Now get your backside over there and explain to Anthony Chung’s mum and dad why their wee boy’s no’ coming home for dinner. And speak to that sodding author!’

‘OK. . . Thanks.’ Logan hung up and stuck the mobile back in his pocket.

PC Sim eased the pool car around the Haudagain roundabout, driving as if the car was full of eggs, or sweating dynamite, windscreen wipers squeaking their way back and forth clearing away the misty drizzle. ‘How’s the case review going? ’

Logan wound up his window. ‘Like getting a prostate exam from a grizzly bear.’

Sim licked her lips. ‘Are we really going to meet the guy who wrote Witchfire? ’

‘Thought you didn’t like the book.’

‘It’s just, if I’d known, I could’ve taken a copy along for signing.’ She stared straight again, picking at the steering wheel cover. ‘Not for me, for my niece.’

Yeah, right.

‘According to Insch, the guy’s going to be there all day, doing script rewrites.’

Sim nodded. Smiled. Picked at the steering wheel some more. ‘And you’re sure we shouldn’t go speak to Anthony Chung’s parents first? ’

A sigh stole the air from Logan’s lungs. ‘Their son’s dead. Soon as we tell them, that’s it: their lives are blighted forever. Half an hour isn’t going to change that.’

‘Yeah, I’m not looking forward to it either.’

A battered Daihatsu 4Trak growled past in the outside lane, blue-grey smoke sputtering from the four-by-four’s exhaust pipe.