Logan went back through the doors to the stairwell, pulling out his phone on the way and scrolling down to Steel’s name. It rang as they charged up the stairs. Bang – out into another bland green corridor that smelled of boiled socks and murdered cauliflower.

Steel finally picked up. ‘Oh, it’s you is it? Where’s my bloody paperwork? I told you I wanted it on my desk by lunchtime, no’ next sodding—’

‘We know who killed the necklacing victim.’

Pause. ‘You do? ’

One of the uniformed officers checked the ward signs, then marched off to the left. Chalmers hurried after him, Logan and Mr Too-Many-Pies bringing up the rear.

‘Guy Ferguson. He was in on the jewellery heist. Victim was probably one of his gang. He’s in ARI right now: we’re on our way.’

‘Buggering hell. . . It’s only been a day and a half, and I’ve already solved the thing. Keep telling everyone I’m a genius.’

‘You’ve already solved? ’ Logan barged through a set of double doors into another stretch of sickly green. ‘You’re as bad as bloody Chalmers.’

‘My intrepid leadership is what did it. I’m no’ saying you didn’t play your own small part—’

‘Do I get any sodding credit at all? ’

Up ahead, Chalmers and the other uniform were shouldering their way into a ward.

‘Laz, you’re big enough and ugly enough to know how this works: credit, like a happy wee party balloon, floats up the way. Blame, like jobbies, falls down.’ Rustling came from the other end of the phone. ‘Now, be a good boy and keep an eye on my party balloon while I hurry over there to collect it.’

Aye, right.

Logan held the phone out at arm’s length, then made a harsh hissing noise. ‘. . .ant hear what . . . signal . . . hello? Hello? ’

‘Don’t you sodding dare, Logan McRae, or I’ll ram my boot so far up—’

‘Isn’t. . . Hello? ’ He hung up.

Darth Vader’s theme tune burst out of the phone’s speaker, the word ‘STEEL’ flashing on the screen. He switched it off and jammed it back in his pocket. Served her right. He nodded to PC Pies. ‘OK, we’ll—’

The ward door banged open and three young men scrambled out, white trainers squeaking on the cracked terrazzo floor. They weren’t wearing identical tracksuits, but it wasn’t far off it, the tops pulled on over hoodies and baseball caps. One slammed into the wall, twisted round a couple of times, then sprinted straight towards Logan.

More squeaking as he scrabbled to a halt, eyes wide, staring at the huge constable. ‘Shite!’ And he was off again – accelerating the other way, following his mates.

Constable Pies lumbered into a run, giving chase.

Logan shoved open the ward door. The other uniform was feeling his way along the wall, one hand clutched tightly over his groin, sweat running down his pale face.