Chalmers wandered up beside him. ‘Maybe they’re out? ’

‘Or maybe they’re just— Sodding hell, what now? ’

Steel’s ringtone blared out of his pocket. He hauled out his mobile and pointed Chalmers at a sweep of lockblock leading around the side of the house. ‘Try round the back.’

She looked up at the house, rubbing her thumb across the tips of her fingers. ‘What if the dog—’

‘If it could get outside, we’d be running for our lives with no arse in our trousers by now. Go.’

As soon as she was gone, he took the call. ‘I’m doing it, OK? I’ve just been to the Garfields’, and now I’m at the Chungs’.’

‘What’s happening with that sodding necklacing victim? How come you’ve no’ got an ID yet? ’

He stared up at the pale-blue sky. A plane roared into view, fresh out of Aberdeen Airport, banking around to head south, or east, going somewhere else. Lucky sods. ‘How many things do you think I can actually do at the one time? I’m looking for—’

‘What did I tell you about organizing things? You’re no’ supposed to be running about—’

‘You told me to come out here! You, not me.’

A harrumph. ‘Aye, well. . . Don’t change the subject.’

‘We’ll get an ID when we get an ID. Now bugger off and let me do my job.’ He hung up. Chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. Maybe telling Steel to bugger off wasn’t the best of ideas. He switched the thing off.

Chalmers appeared through the gate again. Stopped by the side of the house, and scraped the sole of her shoe across the kerbing that bordered the path. ‘All locked up round there. The only thing moving in there is an Alsatian the size of a horse. So Mr and Mrs Chung are either hiding under the bed, the dog’s eaten them, or they’re out.’ Then more scraping.

Logan took out a business card and printed a note on the back of it in small careful letters: ‘SORRY WE MISSED YOU. CAN YOU GIVE ME A CALL SO I CAN ARRANGE A TIME TO COME OVER AND DISCUSS ANTHONY? ’ Then stuck it through the letter box.

Chalmers had finished with the kerbing, now she was dragging her shoe across the grass. . . ‘Where to? ’

Logan marched down the drive towards the gates. ‘Nothing else we can do here. Time to call it a night.’

Logan slid the viewing hatch open and peered into the cell. Blinked. Then backed off a couple of paces, wafting his hand in front of his nose. The sharp-edged stench of stale alcohol curdled the air, making his eyes water. ‘God, it’s like a brewery in there. . .’