‘See, if I was going to take a dump in someone’s office, I’d do it in their desk drawer. Or in the filing cabinet, under “J” for jobbie, that way it’s all organized and—’

‘Rennie!’

‘Oh, right. Yeah.’ He stood to one side and swept his arm out in a grandiose gesture, as if he was a magician introducing his glamorous assistant. ‘Got a Dr Graham here to see La Monarch De Iceberg.’

A woman stepped past Rennie, into the room. Short, big smile, tiny diamond earrings twinkling between strands of long blonde hair. Big brown boots, blue jeans, and a pink twinset. Petite and girly. She stuck out a thin hand for Logan to shake. It was like an industrial car crusher. ‘I hear you need a forensic anthropologist? ’

Already?

Logan took his hand back while it still worked. ‘You’re keen: we only put the call out an hour ago.’

She flashed him a smile that made little crow’s feet around her eyes. ‘Are you kidding? Jobs like this are hen’s teeth: had to get here before any other bugger did. Forensic anthropology’s a cut-throat business.’

‘Dr Graham—’

‘April, please.’ She shook her head. ‘I blame the telly – they show all these glamorous actors running about the place, solving murders, then everyone and their dog thinks, “Hey, why don’t I train to be one of them bone people?” Seriously, you can’t throw a brick these days without braining two dozen unemployed forensic anthropologists.’

‘That’s very—’

‘You know,’ she frowned up at him, ‘you should’ve put some ice on that, it would’ve brought the swelling down. Might be too late now, but it’s probably still worth a go. Trust me: if there’s one thing I know, it’s being punched in the face.’

Logan’s fingers stroked the side of his swollen nose. ‘OK. . .’

‘Are the remains ready? ’ She got a step closer. ‘I’d really like to get cracking as soon as I can.’

He backed away, until the desktop dug into the back of his legs. Retreat no longer an option. ‘They’re through the house. . .’

‘Good stuff.’ She spun around, as if she was mounted on castors. ‘Right, lead the way, and we—’ Her pillow-sized handbag swung out as she turned, caught Isobel’s china mug and sent it flying.

It hit the carpet tiles with a delicate ping, then shattered into a dozen glinting fragments.

April stared down at it, mouth hanging open. She cleared her throat, clutched at the demon handbag, kneaded at the tan leather. ‘Oh God. . . It was an accident.’ She shuffled sideways, into the filing cabinet. ‘It . . . I’ll pay for it. I didn’t mean to break it.’

Rennie hunkered down and picked a shard up between thumb and forefinger, dropping it into his palm. ‘Don’t worry, it’s just—’