‘What do you think.’ Steel banged the flat of her hand down on top of the small TV screen mounted above the length of grey working surface. ‘Go on, you wee bugger. . .’

The picture fizzed and crackled. Then interview room three appeared on screen, slightly distorted by the angle of the camera.

Reuben was sitting on the other side of the table, facing the camera, massive shoulders slumped, his hair all flat on one side and sticking up on the other. Could almost smell the second-hand booze oozing out of every pore, even from here.

If it bothered the man sitting next to him, it didn’t show. Sandy Moir-Farquharson’s suit probably cost more than Logan made in a month. Maybe two. The white shirt immaculate and crisp, the tie perfectly centred. He had a little less hair, and it was almost entirely grey now, but he still had exactly the same patronizing air. ‘And tell me, Inspector, when was my client supposed to have conducted this alleged assault? ’

Logan poked the screen. ‘“Alleged” my arse.’

The man sitting with his back to the camera checked his notes. ‘Half six, yesterday morning.’ DI Bell was nearly as wide as Reuben, but half a head shorter. He’d taken his jacket off, rolling up his sleeves to reveal a hairy pair of arms that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a gorilla.

‘Come on, Ding-Dong, ask him about the bones.’

Steel sighed. ‘You’re bloody obsessed.’

‘Then your complainant is clearly mistaken in his identification.’ The lawyer pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase. ‘I have here a sworn statement from a Miss Chloe Slessor stating that my client was with her all night in a . . . romantic capacity.’

‘The lying cow!’

Steel whistled. ‘Romantic? Reuben? Jesus, can you imagine that humping away at you? Be like a warthog shagging a Fabergé egg.’

‘Does your complainant have any witnesses to corroborate his fictitious version of events? ’

‘Ooh: think you’re the one who’s shagged now, Laz.’

‘As a police officer, DI McRae—’

‘I’m sorry, Inspector, are police officers above the law now? ’ Hissing Sid’s smile was sharp and reptilian. ‘Don’t they have to comply with the same burden of proof as everyone else? ’

‘He punched me on the bloody nose!’ Logan grabbed the little microphone wired into the wall and pressed the red button. ‘He punched me on the bloody nose!’

On screen, DI Bell flinched. Then dug a finger into his ear, wiggling the little wireless earpiece. ‘Ow. . .’

Logan pressed the button again. ‘Sorry. Ask him about the bones.’

‘Reuben,’ DI Bell leaned forward, ‘who do the bones belong to? ’

A sniff, then a frown. ‘Eh? ’

‘The ones you’ve been sending to DI McRae.’

He looked at his lawyer, then back at the inspector. ‘Are you off your hairy wee head? ’

‘Who was she? Who did you kill? ’

Silence. Reuben sat back and folded his huge arms.