Logan blinked. Stood there in silence. Then let out a huge breath, blood hammering in his ears. Oh thank God. ‘Safety catch, you pillock.’

‘No, is. . .’ Anthony stared at the gun in his hand.

Then Logan slammed an elbow into his face, lifting him off his feet, sending him thumping back into the wall, arms out. The revolver clattered onto the tiles below.

In the interests of Health and Safety, Logan gave him a swift boot in the testicles as well. Anthony Chung curled up like a foetus, one hand clasped over his broken bloody nose the other wrapped around his battered bollocks.

Then Logan bent over and clutched his own knees, holding on while the room swirled around his head.

‘Guv? ’ Sim patted him on the back. ‘You OK? ’

‘Cuff him. Please.’

‘Right, you little sod: Anthony Chung, I’m arresting you for the attempted murder of three police officers, possession of illegal firearms, and a horrible dog.’ She dragged his hands behind his back and slapped the handcuffs on. ‘And I am seriously hacked off about the shotgun behind the door too!’

Come on: still hadn’t found Chalmers. Arse in gear.

Logan took another deep breath and straightened up. Then clambered up the stairs with Rennie panting along behind him.

The landing at the top was covered in red-and-brown swirly carpet, coming away from the edges. One door hung open on a bedroom with black sheets and a Ring Knot painted on the ceiling. Piles of clothes heaped up on the floor. A couple of open pizza boxes with grease stains on the cardboard marking out their ghosts.

Two more doors.

Rennie pointed at himself, then the one on the left.

Logan nodded and took the other, wrenched it open and froze on the threshold.

It was a bathroom, built in what looked like an extension, the ceiling covered in blooms of damp and mould. Yellowing tiles with dirty grey grout. A roll-top bath streaked with rust and full of water. And Agnes Garfield.

She was kneeling by the bath, holding something under the surface. Something face down that struggled and wriggled, two bare feet sticking out, ankles tied to the taps.

Chalmers.

‘Let her go!’

Agnes looked up at him. Freckles stood out like bloodstains on her porcelain skin, her bright-red hair tied back in a ponytail, so much black makeup around her eyes that she looked like a corpse. She bared her teeth. ‘I’m saving her soul.’

‘Let – her – go!’

A shrug. ‘As you wish. . .’ Agnes stood, her hands out, palms up.

Chalmers’ naked back rose to the surface, wrists bound behind her. The struggling got worse.

Sodding hell – with her ankles tied to the taps, and hands behind her back, there was no way she could get her nose or mouth above the waterline.

Logan lunged forward, elbowed Agnes out of the way and hauled Chalmers to the surface.