‘Get the SEB to give it a once-over before they go. Probably won’t find anything, but it’s worth a try.’ He struggled out of the oversuit’s lower half, then swore as a tinny rendition of the ‘Imperial March’ from Star Wars blared out of his phone. Didn’t even need to check the caller ID to know who it was.

Logan hit the button. ‘What now? ’

A pause, then Detective Chief Inspector Steel’s smoky voice rumbled in his ear. ‘Have you still got me ringing up as Darth Sodding Vader, ’cos that’s no’ funny!’

Logan pressed mute. ‘Sergeant, I thought I asked you to get those vehicle IDs.’

She kept her eyes on her shoes. ‘Yes, sir.’

He smiled. Well, it wouldn’t kill him to throw her a bone. ‘You made a good FAO: keep it up.’ He pressed the mute button again. ‘Now bugger off.’

Spluttering burst from the phone. ‘Don’t you dare tell me to bugger off! I’m head of sodding CID, no’ some—’

‘Not you – DS Chalmers.’ He shooed her away, then shifted his mobile to the other side, pinning it in place with his shoulder while he unzipped the rest of his oversuit. ‘What do you want? ’

‘Oh. . .’ A cough. ‘Right. Where’s that bloody paperwork? ’

‘Your in-tray. Did you even bother checking? Or did you just—’

‘No’ the overtime report, you divot, the budget analysis.’

‘Oh, I thought you meant where was my paperwork. You know, the paperwork I’m actually supposed to do, as opposed to your paperwork.’

‘Bad enough I’ve got all this shite to sort out without you throwing a strop every time you’re asked to do a simple wee task—’

‘Look, I’m at a murder scene, so can we skip through all the bollocks to the actual reason you called? Was it just to give me a hard time? Because if it was, you can—’

‘And what about those bloody missing teenage lovebirds? When are you planning on finding them, eh? Or are you too busy swanning about with—’

‘Which part of “I’m at a murder scene” do you not get? ’

‘—poor parents worried to death!’

‘For God’s sake, they’re both eighteen – they’re not teenagers they’re adults.’ He shuffled his way out of the blue plastic booties. ‘They’ll be shacked up together in an Edinburgh squat by now. Bet you any money they’re at it like rabbits on a manky futon.’

‘That’s no excuse for dragging your heels – bloody woman’s mother’s been on the phone again. Do I look like I’ve no’ got anything better to do than run around after your scarred backside all day? ’ A loud sniff rattled down the phone. ‘Pull your sodding socks up: you’ve done bugger all on that jewellery heist last night, there’s a stack of outstanding hate crimes. . . And while we’re on the subject: your sodding mother!’