Sim sighed. ‘You should see their house, it’s huge. Great big kitchen and a built-in machine for making coffee and everything. I had a latte.’

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Do we have to have “the talk”? ’

‘Husband’s in London on business, but I spoke to the wife and the daughter. Didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything. The steading faces away from the house, and I checked the views from all the windows – you could hold an orgy in the front garden here and no one would know. As long as you kept the noise down. . . Ah.’

Logan opened his eyes again. ‘What? ’

Sim pointed down the track, where a Porsche Cayenne, a Mercedes, and a dented pool car lumped and bumped their way through the potholes. ‘Cavalry’s here.’

Isobel peeled back her white SOC suit’s hood. Her fringe stuck to her shiny forehead, cheeks glowing bright pink as she snapped off her gloves and puffed out a long breath. ‘I’d estimate two, three days at most. In this heat it’s difficult to be sure, but trapped up there with the door and window taped shut. . .’ She lowered herself onto the bonnet of the patrol car, rubbing at her pregnant bulge. ‘Pfff. . . MO appears identical to the Anthony Chung case.’

DI Leith groaned. A beige plaster stretched across the bridge of his nose, the skin already starting to darken around his eyes where Ding-Dong thumped him one. ‘Like I haven’t got enough on my plate. . .’ He dug his hands into his pockets. ‘Well, as Acting DI McRae found the body, I think he should be the one—’

‘Oh no you don’t.’ Logan glanced back over his shoulder, where the duty undertakers were carrying a stainless-steel coffin out through the front door. ‘This is all yours.’ He turned and started down the track. ‘I’ve got a missing police officer to find.’

Sim scurried up behind him. ‘What now? ’

‘Go home. Your shift finished two and a half hours ago.’

‘Peter’s taking the kids to see that new Disney film. They’ll come back full of caffeine and sugar.’ She smiled. ‘I’d rather be hunting down a murderer than deal with that.’

Logan got to the Fiat, pulled out his phone, and called Rennie. ‘Any news? ’

‘Found some loose cannabis in the place out by Rhynie, but other than that: nothing.’

All three houses north-west of Aberdeen and still no sign of Chalmers. And no sign of Agnes Garfield either. . . The weaselly little git at Willox and Smith lied to them. ‘Get over to the estate agent’s in Kintore, I want a list of everything they’ve got for sale north of the city.’

‘But they’ll be closed and—’

‘I don’t care if you’ve got to arrest Willox for having a stupid haircut, get me that bloody list.’