Sim pointed at a manila folder on the dashboard. ‘I searched through everything reported in the UK for the last two years – only one dead body still missing: a middle-aged man, killed in a motorbike crash in Shropshire fifteen years ago. They dug up one corner of the graveyard to move a gas main and can’t remember where they put him.’ She changed smoothly into fourth. ‘So I got in touch with every council in Scotland and asked them to check their graveyards, just in case there’s an open grave they don’t know about, and the occupant’s gone walkabout.’

‘And? ’

‘The words “don’t hold your breath” spring to mind. You know what councils are like: it’ll take months.’

Ah well, too much to hope for an easy solution.

The 4Trak switched lanes right in front of them. PC Sim slammed on the brakes, missing it by inches, her face constricting around two flared nostrils. ‘Dirty . . . bleeding . . . poop-head!’

‘How can no one be missing a seventy-year-old dead woman? ’

Sim leaned on the horn, the harsh ‘Breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!’ cutting through the drizzly afternoon. ‘PICK A LANE!’

‘Will you calm down? ’

‘It’s flipping idiots like that who cause accidents. . .’ Her eyes bugged. ‘Did he just give me the finger? ’

The 4Trak driver’s arm was silhouetted between the front seats. Fist clenched, middle finger extended.

A cold, jagged smile spread across Sim’s face. Then she reached forward and flipped the switch – blue-and-white lights flickered behind the pool car’s radiator grille, the siren giving its two-tone wail.

‘Can you not just let it go? ’

‘Sorry, Guv, but we’ve got a duty to uphold.’

In the 4Trak, the middle finger was joined by the rest of its friends. But the silly sod slowed, then pulled into the bus stop up ahead.

Sim pulled in behind, lights flickering back at them from the four-by-four’s muddy paintwork. ‘Right, you little stinker. . .’ She grabbed her hat off the dashboard and climbed out into the drizzle.

Might as well let her get it out of her system.

Logan pulled out his phone and settled back in his seat. Dialled Chalmers’s number. ‘Professor Marks: has he cracked yet? ’

‘Guv, was just about to call you. We’ve got another Oriental gentleman in A&E – says he “fell down some stairs”. Managed to shatter both his kneecaps. According to the orthopaedic surgeon he must’ve fallen on a bag of hammers on the way down.’

Now there was a blast from the past. ‘Claw hammers? ’

‘Can’t tell. Gentleman in question is a Hong Gil-dong. Mr Hong entered the country legally on a student visa from South Korea twelve years ago. Never went home.’

Obviously.

Logan drummed his fingers on the dashboard for a minute. ‘What was he studying? ’

‘I. . .’ A pause. ‘Sorry, Guv, I’ll find out.’

‘Want to bet it was horticulture? ’

Chapter 31

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