‘“Arse” this, and “arse” that. And you say I’m the one who needs to change the record. Then there’s all the “scrotum” threats: you’ll use it as a handbag; you’ll fill it with angry bees and sew it over my bumhole; you’ll make soup in it; you’ll make me wear it as a gimp mask. . .’

‘Laz, show the good doctor your photos of Anthony Chung.’

Logan opened the other folder.

Dr Marks sat forward, one hand curled around his barely existent chin. ‘You never really got on with your father, did you, Chief Inspector? You always felt that nothing you did was good enough for him. Did he have a problem accepting your sexuality? He did, didn’t he? Always hoped it’d just be a phase you were going through.’

The first picture of Anthony Chung was of him lying on the kitchen floor, surrounded by Agnes Garfield’s Ring Knot, his skin coloured with mould and decay, his eyes rotted away to dark slits. Logan laid the photo on the table. ‘He would’ve bled to death, but she veerited him first. Wrapped a rope around his throat and twisted.’

‘It must be hard, keeping it up: the posturing, the swearing, the constant scratching. . . You’re like someone’s stereotyped idea of a man. More manly than the men you have to work with. I imagine you consider yourself a bit of a womanizer too, don’t you? Always trying to compete. . .’

She scowled at the psychologist. ‘Up your hole with a loo-brush, you saggy-chinned wee cockshite.’

Well, that was helping.

Logan placed the next picture of Anthony Chung next to the first. ‘Dr Marks, Agnes Garfield is probably a danger to herself, she’s certainly a danger to other people.’

The psychologist popped his glasses back on. ‘Your father always wanted a son, and you thought that was the only way to get his approval. So you’ve built this whole vile persona around the selfish wishes of a dead man. Did he ever—’

Steel slammed her hand down on the tabletop. ‘YOU LEAVE MY DAD OUT OF IT AND ANSWER THE BLOODY QUESTION!’

A sigh. ‘I can’t breach doctor-patient confidentiality. Even with a warrant. Even if they try to compel me in court. The people who come to me for therapy have to be able to trust me with their darkest thoughts, desires, and secrets. If they can’t, I can’t help them.’

Logan put down the next photo – a close-up of Anthony Chung on the cutting table, his chest opened up and hollowed out. ‘Where’s Agnes Garfield? ’