'Hud oan a mintie,' said Control in broad Aberdonian. There was a pause filled with static and then, 'You're goin' ta have ta hold the fort oan yer own for a bit. Everyone's off at this bloody fire. I'll get ye a DI soon as one 'comes available.'

'What?' Buchan grabbed the radio off Jacobs, even though it was still attached to his shoulder, dragging him off balance. 'What do you mean, "as soon as one becomes a-bloody-vailable"? This is murder! Not some sodding fire!

How the hell does a fire take precedence over-'

The voice of Control cut her off. 'Listen up,' it said, 7 dinna care what problems you 'we got at home: you bloody well leave them there. You 'II do as you 're damn well told and secure the crime scene till I can get a DI to you. And if it takes all bloody night that's how long you wait: understood?'

Buchan went furious scarlet, before spitting out the words, 'Yes, Sergeant.'

'Right.' And the radio went dead.

Buchan started swearing again. How the hell were they supposed to protect a crime scene with no IB team? It was raining for God's sake; all the forensic evidence would be getting washed away! And where the hell were CID? This was supposed to be a murder enquiry – they didn't even have an SIO!

She grabbed PC Jacobs. 'You want a job?'

He frowned, suspicious. 'What kind of job?'

'We need a Senior Investigating Officer. Your "mate" lives around here doesn't he? Mr Police Bloody Hero?'

Jacobs admitted that yes, he did.

'Right, go wake the bastard up. Let him deal with it.'

WPC Watson had the nastiest collection of bras and pants that Logan had ever seen. All of her underwear looked like it had been designed by World War One zeppelin manufacturers on an off day – uniform baggy-grey. Not that he got to see a lot of Jackie's underwear these days, but for a brief spell their shifts were in synch. Logan smiled sleepily and rolled over, the light from the hallway spilling through the open door, illuminating the rumpled bed.