The Police Custody and Security Officer wrinkled her nose. ‘He was doing tequila shots when they picked him up. I hear he’d downed a whole bottle of Bells on his own first.’

Logan stepped up to the hatch again.

The cell wasn’t much bigger than a hotel bathroom. The red-brown terrazzo floor was littered with discarded clothing, bright sunlight streaming through the little square panes of glass that made up the window. They cast glowing cubes of light on Reuben’s naked back, making the tuft of hair between his shoulder blades shine.

He was lying on his side, bum to the door, naked except for a pair of dark-blue pants and a single sock. Snoring. Like a pig from a horror film.

The PCSO shuddered. ‘Took three of us to get him into the recovery position.’

‘He give you any trouble? ’

‘Nope: all nice and calm. Told Michelle he loved her, then did the same to Mark. But me? ’ She sighed. ‘Always the bridesmaid. . .’

Reuben twitched and a deep rattling grunt echoed out into the corridor.

She clacked the hatch closed again. ‘Be still my beating heart.’

Logan looked back, along the corridor. ‘Any chance you can stick him in an interview room? ’

‘Couldn’t even wake him for the Duty Doc’s examination. That lump of raw sex is dead to the world. Going to have a stinker of a hangover tomorrow morning.’

‘Good.’

The nurse looked up from her copy of Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason and smiled. It made little dimples in her plump cheeks. ‘Evening, stranger.’

Logan smiled back. ‘Evening, Claire, how’s Bill’s piles? ’

She stuck out a hand, palm down, fingers spread, then wiggled it from side to side. ‘You know what he’s like. Loves a curry, never thinks of the consequences. Men, eh? ’

‘That’s why you ladies love us.’ He pointed down the corridor to the private room at the end. Blinds drawn. ‘She in? ’

‘Well, she popped out for a bit of shopping, but she’s back now. Why don’t you go in and I’ll be along in a bit? ’

Logan let himself into the room. Dark. He squinted in the gloom. ‘What, you’re a vampire now? ’

He crossed to the other side and hauled the curtains open. Sunlight streamed in, glittering back from the stainless-steel fixtures. Leaning on the windowsill, he looked down at the little chunk of grass pinned to the ground by thin trees, their green leaves shining in the warm evening. A wee grey shape lumped into view, then hunkered down, eating.

‘That rabbit’s back again. And I think he’s got a knife. . .’