Chalmers appeared behind him, the front of her suit spattered with something brown.

Logan jabbed a finger at the PC. ‘You: get back there and secure the prisoner.’ Then glared at Chalmers. ‘Don’t just stand there dripping, get after them!’

The trail of destruction wasn’t that hard to follow – overturned carts, little old men shaking their walking sticks and bellowing obscenities, little old ladies shouting far worse.

Off in the distance, a pair of double doors boomed against the walls. More swearing.

DS Chalmers stuck her elbows out and her chin in, sprinting after them.

Logan skipped to a halt, then turned and charged through into the stairwell again, taking the steps two and three at a time before bursting out on the lower level. Where it was nice and quiet.

There were only two ways out of Aberdeen Royal Infirmary from here: double back towards the exit onto the side road opposite the auditorium, or keep going and out past Nuclear Medicine. Unless they just popped out through a fire door. . .

Too late to worry about that now.

He hurtled along the deserted corridor, passing empty beds and wheelchairs. An abandoned lunch pod.

An intern flattened himself against the wall, clutching a huge brown X-ray envelope to his chest, as Logan sprinted past.

Up the stairs at the end, heart pounding in his ears. Through the doors at the top and— PREGNANT LADY, PREGNANT LADY!

Logan’s shoes skidded on the patchwork of flooring and duct tape, stopping him just short of a wheelchair full of red-faced, teeth-gritted, soon-to-be motherhood, one leg encased in plaster to the hip. The man pushing the chair turned as Logan battered past, setting the shiny ‘CONGRATULATIONS!’ balloons spinning and bumping into each other.

‘Watch where you’re bloody going!’

And then BOOM – the door from the main wards smashed open and one of the tracksuit hoodies flailed into view, arms and legs windmilling as he tried to dodge a porter pushing a trolley heaped with metal bowls and trays. It didn’t work. The hoodie careened straight into him, the pair of them landing in a tangle of limbs as the trolley’s contents clanged and clattered across the cracked floor.

Then he was up on his feet again, lunging for the exit.

Only Logan got there first.

He slammed into the hoodie’s side, sending them both crashing into the automatic doors before they could open. They hit the rubber matting in a tangle of arms and legs.

‘Gerroffus, gerroffus!’

The door hissed open.

‘Police!’ Logan grabbed a handful of hood and hauled. ‘Hold still, you wee shite. . .’

‘Aaaagh, gerroffus!’

Something thumped into Logan’s side. The hoodie put his head down and threw another punch.

Right in the armpit. Buggering hell, that stung.