The stairwell echoed with footsteps and murmured conversations, overlaying the background hum of the hospital. Then Logan’s phone joined in – Darth Vader’s theme again. Should have left the damn thing turned off. He pulled it out. ‘It’s not—’

‘Have you got him? Where are you? ’ She sounded like a small child with a new puppy. If the kid had smoked forty a day for its whole life.

Chalmers pushed through the doors onto the ground floor, holding them open for Logan.

‘We’re heading back to the car, but—’

‘There! I see you!’

He froze.

DCI Steel was marching along the corridor towards them, mobile held against her ear, a big Cheshire grin pulling her wrinkles into a starburst. ‘Who’s Aunty Roberta’s special wee soldier then? ’

He hung up. Stood there, waiting for her.

Steel gave a hop-skip, then grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. Then frowned. ‘Where is he? How come you’re no’ taking him in? ’

‘He’s . . . upstairs under guard. They’re amputating most of his fingers this afternoon.’

‘And you’re sure he’s our boy? ’

DS Chalmers held up her notebook. ‘Confessed to the killing, and the jewellery heist too.’

‘Excellent!’ Steel let go of Logan and gave Chalmers a hug. Holding on for long enough that the DS started fidgeting.

Logan took a deep breath. ‘There’s something I need to—’

‘The ACC looks like he’s won free boobs for a year; scheduling a press conference for half three.’ She released Chalmers. ‘You’re both invited. Is this no’ great? ’ Steel poked at the screen of her mobile, then held it up to her ear. ‘ACC wants a word. . .’

‘Actually, Guy Ferguson—’

‘Aye.’ She stuck a finger in her other ear. ‘Dougie? Is his nibs about? Yeah. . .’

‘Look, it’s not as simple as—’

‘Sir? I’ve got him here. . . Yup, under arrest and under guard as we speak.’ The grin got bigger. ‘Well, you know us: CID always gets its man.’

‘Seriously, we need to—’

‘I’ll put him on.’ Steel held the phone out to Logan. Nodded at him. ‘Go on then.’

Sod.

He took the phone. ‘Sir? ’

‘McRae, well done.’ The Assistant Chief Constable’s put-on posh telephone voice wasn’t enough to cover up the Teuchter underneath – all elongated vowels, dipping for no reason in the middle of random words. ‘Excellent to get a result so quickly.’

‘Sir, it’s—’

‘No, no: credit where it’s due. Why haven’t you applied for that permanent DI’s position in Peterhead yet? You’re obviously qualified, and a shoo-in after this!’

A frown. ‘There’s a permanent DI’s job? ’

Steel cleared her throat, stared up at the ceiling tiles. ‘I. . . Must’ve slipped my mind.’ Scheming old bag.