‘Actually . . . Dave . . . I was meaning to call you. We’ve just arrested Anthony Chung and Agnes Garfield.’

Silence.

‘Dave? ’

‘You told me Anthony Chung was dead!’

‘Yes, well . . . he got better. And she’s definitely our killer, so you can ditch the rest of the emails.’

‘Do you have any idea how many hours I wasted on that profile, trying to get everything to fit because you told me—’

‘You were right about the trial by water. She was trying to drown DS Chalmers when we found her.’

‘I told you she’d never kill him.’

‘It’s not my fault: Anthony Chung’s father ID’d the body, I just. . . Hold on a minute.’ Logan stuck his hand over the mouthpiece as a short paramedic stomped to a halt in front of him. Her hair was swept up in a droopy ponytail, jowls wobbling around a soured mouth. Like someone’s disappointed mum.

She jabbed a finger towards the ambulance. ‘If she doesn’t start cooperating, I’m going to sedate her.’

Back to the phone. ‘Dave, I’ve got to go.’ He hung up, and followed the paramedic’s big wobbly bum to the ambulance, then around the side to the open doors.

Chalmers was sitting on the tailgate, coughing, each breath rattling as if something was loose inside her chest. ‘I don’t want to go to hospital. . .’ The silver blanket crinkled as she drew it tighter around her bare shoulders, reflecting back the swirling blue-and-white lights. Grey and purple bruises seeping out into the skin of her shaved head.

The paramedic let out a long sigh. Then rolled her eyes at Logan. ‘Tell her.’

‘You need stitches and antibiotics. You’re going to hospital.’

Chalmers took another hit on the oxygen mask. Did some more coughing.

Logan patted the paramedic on the shoulder. ‘Give us a minute.’

‘I mean it: I’ll sedate her if I have to!’ Then turned and stomped off towards the firearms team.

‘You’re lucky you’re still alive.’

Chalmers nodded. ‘She was at the soup kitchen. Agnes. . . Right there, lurking in the shadows, watching everyone. Followed her. . .’ More coughing. ‘Lost her round the back of the Bon Accord Centre.’

‘Why the hell didn’t you call it in? ’

‘So I went round the addresses again: all the ones I got from Duncan Cocker. There was no one there in the afternoon, but I thought. . .’ A shrug, making the blanket crackle.

‘You thought you’d catch her yourself and take all the glory. Well, that worked out well, didn’t it? ’

Growling and scrabbling came from the front door as a pair of dog handlers hauled the Alsatian outside on the end of a long pole, both of them struggling to keep the noose tight around its neck.