‘You know, when Nichole and I found out we were going to be in Witchfire, the pair of us arranged to stay with this coven in Wyoming. They’ve got a compound way up in the hills, where “The Man” can’t get at them. And we learned what it’s like to be a witch in real life.’

‘Wasting police time is an offence.’

‘Did you know voodoo dolls have got nothing to do with voodoo? They originated in Europe: “Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble.”’

‘Who did you bribe to say you assaulted them? ’

‘You see, that’s what it takes to turn in a really great performance – you have to throw yourself into the character, not just turn up and drone out your lines like an amateur. You have to inhabit the part: live it. That’s what makes the difference between—’

Logan slammed the hatch shut. Bad enough they had genuine criminals out there without the cells being full of nutjobs getting themselves arrested for the fun of it.

Her voice came through, muffled from the other side. ‘So . . . you want to take a raincheck on those handcuffs? ’

Chapter 45

45

Logan stuck his feet up on his desk, a cup of tea in one hand, his paperback copy of Witchfire in the other, while the speakerphone rang and rang and rang.

‘You’ve reached Lorna Chalmers. I can’t come to the phone right now, but you can leave a message after the beep.’

‘It’s half three: where the bloody hell are you? ’ He leaned over and stabbed the red button, hanging up.

No joy from her mobile, and no joy from the number for the flat she was renting on Jasmine Terrace either.

He tried Rennie instead. ‘You heard from Chalmers yet? ’

Rennie’s voice boomed out from the speakers. ‘Course not. Why should her holiness have to come into work like the rest of us plebs? Probably hung-over, kneeling on some dirty old man’s bathroom floor, with her knickers round her ankles, vomiting lobster-and-chips all over the porcelain.’

‘Yes, very funny. Tell me, Detective Sergeant, have you found your missing tramp yet? ’

A pause. ‘Actually . . . it’s a bit complicated. I—’

‘Then you’re in no position to be a smartarse, are you? Get on to Control – I want the nearest patrol car sent round Chalmers’s flat. Unless she’s dying of flu, I want her in here right now.’

‘Gah. . .’ Logan pulled a face, then spat the cold tea back into the mug. He moved it across to the other side of the desk, where it would be out of reach for next time.

He scanned down the page, looking for where he’d left off. Mrs Shepherd was just about to pull out someone’s fingernails. . .

A knock on the door and PC Sim stuck her head in. ‘Guv? Alpha-One-Three’s just been on the blower: no sign of DS Chalmers at her flat.’