‘Not like it was your fault though, was it? You had to do what you could in the time that you had. Only other option was to let her get away. . . Erm. . . Sort of. We’ve got a lookout request on for Agnes Garfield.’

Logan picked his notebook off the bedside table and thumbed through it until he got to the last entry from Ma Stewart’s shop and read out the number for Agnes Garfield’s new mobile. ‘Get a GSM trace on that, pronto. She’s probably ditched it, but it’s worth a go.’

‘Will do.’ Pause. ‘Dildo’s going to be OK. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Just get your arse over here and give me a lift back to the station.’ Logan hung up. Returned the phone and the notebook to the table. Sank down on the edge of the bed and stared at the crumpled sheet of paper taped to the wardrobe mirror.

‘LIKE IT OR NOT, YOU’RE STILL ALIVE’

His phone trilled and buzzed at him.

Couldn’t even leave him alone for five minutes. . .

‘What? ’

‘Mr McRae? Yes, hi, it’s Kwik Fit, you left a car outside the garage this morning? ’

Nursing it slowly around the massive bulk of Mounthooly roundabout with a firm grip on the handbrake.

He stared at the ceiling. ‘How much is it going to cost? ’

‘Well, you need two new brake lines, and all your brake fluid needs replaced. The disc and the drums on the rear wheels are corroded, the suspension arm on the passenger-side front is almost rusted through, back tyres are worn almost to the canvas, the exhaust is—’

‘The brakes. How much to fix the brakes? ’

‘Right, sorry.’ Some rustling. ‘You know, you’re lucky they didn’t give out on the motorway, or a junction or something. Really nasty thing to do to someone. . . Right, OK, just to fix the brakes is going to be—’

‘Hold on: “nasty thing to do to someone”? ’

‘Well, yes. Cut their brake lines. It’s really irresponsible. And indiscriminate too, you don’t just hurt the person in the car, anyone they hit—’

‘Someone cut my brake lines? ’

Chapter 40

40

‘How can she still not be in? ’ Logan scowled out of the passenger window at the bulky three-storey tenements of Sandilands as they drifted slowly by. The ones nearest the road had been given a fresh coat of paint, but it wasn’t helping.

Rennie tootled the pool car along behind a number seventeen bus. ‘’Cos she’s special and clever and doesn’t have to actually work like the rest of us? ’

‘Oh, is she. . .’ He pulled out his phone, found her number in the contact list, and thumbed the button. Then listened to it ring.

‘When this is all over, think I’m going to take Emma to Paris for a long weekend.’

Logan frowned. ‘PC Sim? ’

‘No, not that Emma, my Emma. Why would I take Sim on holiday? ’