She jabbed the mop into the grey water, sending a little wave slopping out and onto the concrete. ‘I’m busy.’

‘OK. . .’ He put his hands up. ‘I’ll wait.’

He backed off a couple of paces, stuck his hands in his pockets, rocked on his heels. Then pulled out his phone and switched it back on. There was a pause then it bleeped at him: eight new voicemails and a dozen text messages. All from Insch. He deleted the lot.

Kathy scrubbed the mop across a stubborn spot. ‘Not even my sodding job!’

It looked as if most of the cells in the women’s section were empty. According to the boards by the doors, only three still had their occupants: an Amy Brooke – shoplifting; Morgan Mitchell – assault; and Agnes Garfield – four counts murder.

Logan slid the hatch back.

Agnes was sitting on the edge of the blue plastic mattress, her knees together, feet together, arms at her sides, hands folded in her lap. Still as a stone. Then she turned her head to face him. The heavy black eye makeup made streaks down her cheeks, like ravens’ wings.

A blink. Then she opened her mouth. Closed it. Swallowed. Then tried again. ‘I’m . . . sorry.’

Bit late for that. ‘It’s not your fault. You’re ill.’

‘I never touched your girlfriend, I just. . . She’s very pretty, lying there, all peaceful. . .’ A little smile. ‘I was so jealous. Sleeping for years and years, waiting for her prince to kiss her and wake her up.’

‘That why you hung bones beneath her bed, so she wouldn’t wake up? ’

Agnes frowned at him, as if he’d just said something incredibly stupid. ‘Why would I do that? The bones were meant to protect me from you. Tenet Nine: “The Lord helps those that help themselves.”’ She licked her lips. ‘But they weren’t working. I tried everything I could think of, but you kept looking for me, so. . . I’m sorry I cut your brakes.’

‘That was you? I could’ve died!’

Agnes nodded. ‘I’ve been . . . confused.’ She looked down at her fingers, twisted them into a knot. ‘Is your police officer friend all right? ’

‘You shaved her head, stabbed her, and tried to drown her. What do you think? ’

A pause. ‘Are you going to kill me? ’

What? ‘No, I’m. . . Why would we kill you? ’

‘I hurt so many people. I thought they were witches. We. . .’ Her red hair fell forward, covering her eyes. ‘I thought I was doing the Lord’s work. Purifying them with the trial by blood. Making them confess. Saving their souls. . .’

So Reuben was right: Word is, the new kids on the block have an enforcer who’s a card-carrying psycho. Gets off on maximum pain.

‘It was you, wasn’t it? The enforcer.’