‘Let’s get something straight: you’re just here to provide a police presence, because Insch said I had to use you. I’m in charge, get it? ’

‘You don’t have to be such—’

‘I did all the legwork. I found out who was selling the stuff. I found out who was making it. And I’m in charge.’

‘Fine, you’re in charge. You’re the big man. All hail, King Dildo the Great, Lord of the Shop Cops.’

Sim scooted forward in her seat, feet making scritchy noises on the sticky floor. ‘Why do they call you Dildo? ’

He glanced in the rear-view mirror, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘That’s King Dildo, to you.’

The council Transit van stuttered to a halt in the corner of a car park, facing a row of shops. A bakery, a newsagent’s, a dry cleaner’s, a tropical fish shop, an estate agent’s with a ‘FOR SALE OR LET’ sign in the window, and a bookie’s: J Stewart & Son – Bookmakers est. 1974. Heavy metal grilles covered the windows, empty crisp packets and bits of old newspaper were trapped in the gaps.

Up above, the sky was like dark-grey ink dripped onto wet paper, slivers of blue shining between the towering clouds.

Logan undid his seatbelt. ‘Ma Stewart. Again? Does the woman never learn? ’

Dildo reached back behind the driver’s seat and hauled out a large sports bag. ‘Oh, she’s done herself proud this time. . .’ He unzipped it, then paused.

Logan’s phone was singing Rennie’s theme tune.

They couldn’t leave him alone for five minutes, could they?

‘What? ’

‘Guv? You better get back here: Ding-Dong and Leith just had a stand-up in the CID office. Proper toe-to-toe yelling match.’

‘So? Get Steel to—’

‘She’s going ballistic – and I mean intercontinental. Ding-Dong lamped Leith one, right on the nose.’

So much for DI Bell’s pretentions to the throne. ‘Why? ’

‘Leith made that bell-end crack again. They’re both standing there, yelling about how the other’s screwing up the case, then bang – swinging punches, blood, DCs shouting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”. . . You should’ve been here, it was great.’

Dildo pulled a sword as long as his arm from the sports bag. The blade shone and glittered.

Logan frowned through the windscreen at the row of shops. The estate agent’s looked as if it had died a death a while ago. All the property notices abandoned in the barred window were stained yellow, their colours faded. Dead flies and wasps made a little line of bodies along the inside of the sills. Bars on the windows. A graffiti-covered shutter over the door. No way in or out. . .

‘Guv? You still there? ’

How did Agnes and Anthony get into the house?

‘Put him on.’

‘What, Ding-Dong? Can’t – Steel’s got him in with Professional Standards for a reaming, he’ll—’

‘No: Leith.’