‘I know.’

‘I’m serious, Laz! Mr Fuckup is not coming to visit, understand? ’

‘OK,’ Logan downed the last of his tea and put the cup and saucer on the nearest workbench, ‘so I hide under the counter out front. We wait till she comes through to the back of the shop, then Dildo blocks the back door, I block the front, and Sim tackles Agnes. Any questions? ’

The counterfeiting room was virtually empty – all the merchandise loaded into the back of Dildo’s council van. The OAP workforce was squeezed into Ma’s office, complaining about not being able to sit down, and what did that poor Garfield girl ever do to deserve getting pounced on?

Logan closed the door on them. Now it was just him, Dildo, and Constable Sim.

Sim sniffed. ‘You sure we shouldn’t get them out of the building? ’

‘Agnes would see them milling about and know something was up. You got your pepper-spray? ’

A lopsided smile. ‘She’s an eighteen-year-old girl, Guv, not Genghis Khan.’

Logan’s phone rang: the Beatles and ‘Octopus’s Garden’. He pulled it out. ‘Dave, I’m kind of busy, so—’

The psychologist’s voice was clipped. ‘Do you not think you could’ve asked before clogging up my inbox with three hundred and sixty-two emails? ’

Ah. . . ‘Look, I just need you to work your magic and tell me which of them are deluded and which are genuinely dangerous.’

‘Now I’ve got IT on my back moaning about server space. And if you’d bothered to check: the profile I gave you clearly shows that Agnes Garfield is—’

Something bleeped at the front of the betting shop. The door.

Sodding hell.

Logan checked the security-camera monitor mounted above the entrance through to the front of the shop. A figure in a hoodie and baseball cap stood in the middle of the screen in fuzzy black-and-white-ovision.

‘Sorry, Dave, I’ve got to go.’

‘Logan, I’m not—’

He hung up.

Sim peered up at the picture, her voice lowered to a whisper. ‘That Agnes? ’

‘Difficult to tell. . .’ The general size and shape was right, but the baggy hoodie and cap did a pretty decent job of hiding any distinguishing characteristics. ‘Might be? ’

If it was, she was five minutes early and Steel was right: they were screwed. There was no way he’d be able to sneak out front now and hide under the counter. Plan B, plan B, plan B. . .

Logan pointed into the room. ‘Move!’

Dildo scurried over to the back door and hid behind a stack of cardboard boxes. Sim ducked under a workbench in the middle of the room. Logan flattened himself against the wall beside the door, on the opposite side to the handle. So when it opened it’d hide him from view.

A voice floated through from the betting shop, high, wobbly at the edges. Definitely female. ‘Hello? Ma? ’