The graveyard was completely overrun with weeds: the headstones swallowed by jagged coils of brambles and sheaths of bracken, mixed in with nettles and spires of rosebay willowherb. Little parachutes of gossamer fluff drifted through the heavy air to shine against the thunderhead sky.

Logan shuffled through the undergrowth, brushing cat hair from his trousers as he went, following Rennie’s flattened path. ‘Any signs of recent disturbance? ’

‘Nah. The grass is starting to grow back on the stuff she’s excavated. If she’s still digging up magic mojo compost, she’s doing it somewhere else.’ He hauled a rust-coloured spine of docken from the jungle of weeds and poked at the hole. ‘If she’s such a nice girl, how come she’s off killing people? ’

‘Nice? ’

‘You know, keeping the old dears in graveyard soil, bones, and cannabis. . . Most kids these days wouldn’t bother their backsides.’

Cannabis? How did. . .

Of course: the glaucoma ‘medicine’. So Agnes was dealing after all. And given the state of Nichole Fyfe and Morgan Mitchell, she was probably helping them out as well.

Very public spirited. No wonder Zander kept giving her second chances.

Logan turned and looked back at the crumbling remains of the church. Three walls, no roof, a handful of black bin-bags, an old fridge, and a soggy mattress. Nowhere to sleep. And even if she’d pitched a tent somewhere in the grounds, there would be trails leading through the waist-high weeds.

She wasn’t here.

So much for that idea.

All that talk of consecrated earth and the power of bones. . .

Never listen to daft auld wifies, no matter how good their shortbread is.

Logan headed back towards the patrol car, leaving Rennie to struggle with the weeds. ‘Get on the phone to the council. I want that grave filled in again before some idiot falls down it and breaks their neck.’

There was a brief shout, a rustle and a crunch.

Logan spun around, but there was no sign of Rennie. ‘Oh, for God’s sake! Tell me you didn’t.’

‘Ow. . . Help! It’s got me! Aaaaaaaargh! Run: save yourself!’ Then Rennie popped up in the middle of a stand of willowherb with a grin plastered across his stupid face and tufts of white all over his suit. ‘Got you.’

No wonder Steel picked on him.

Rennie pulled the patrol car in to the side of the road, ignoring the zigzag lines for the pedestrian crossing. Causeway End was a lot busier than it had been just before seven that morning, the stream of traffic wheeching itself around Mounthooly roundabout’s bulk moving like a twisting snake of steel and glass.

Logan popped off his seatbelt. ‘Tell Chalmers I want her in my office soon as I get back to the ranch.’

Rennie picked another clump of willowherb from the front of his jacket and dropped it in the footwell. Where it promptly stuck to his trousers. ‘Bloody stuff’s like Velcro.’