Steel was silent - and Logan was beginning to think she'd fallen asleep, when she said,'And?' 'And nothing.' 'How did he get here? He left in the Stephens' car, but how did he get here in the first place? If the bastard hopped on the number fifteen bus, dressed in his blood-soaked apron, I think someone would've noticed, don't you?' 'I'll get someone to run the number plates on every parked car within, what, three streets?' 'Four.' She pulled the fag from her mouth and coughed. 'Not that it'll do us any sodding good. He'll have picked it up by now. Get a lookout request on the Stephens' car.' 'Already done.' He wandered over to the other side of the bed. Hazel Stephen's bedside cabinet held the clock radio and a stack of romance paperbacks and How To diet books. 'Right ...' Steel hauled herself off the bed and stretched. 'Hold the fort for five minutes, I'm off for a wee.' Logan pulled the bottom drawer out: pop socks and tights. Middle drawer: pants, thongs and huge knickers. Top drawer: bras, a pair of reading glasses, and a newsletter from Weight Watchers. He picked it up and flicked through, looking at all the miserable-before and happy-ever-after pictures. How did Rennie put it:'So Wiseman's a chubby chaser then. ' Logan dug out his mobile phone and called Control, wanting to know if Heather Inglis had been going to Weight Watchers too. She had. 'What about Valerie Leith?' There was a pause and some clacking keyboard noises.'No idea. I can put you through to the FLO though? ' Another pause, bleeping, and then,'Aye? I mean, PC Munro? ' Logan asked the same question. 'Don't think so, but --' 'Well, can you ask the husband?' 'I wish. Bugger's gone into Witness Protection. You know what they're like: law unto them-bloody- selves. Aye, unless they want something then it's all 'we're on the same team, aren't we?' Tell you --' 'What about the timeline? Any sign of her going to meetings?' 'Eh? Oh, no. None of her friends mentioned it. Nothing in her diary either. ' 'Can you speak to the Witness Protection lot and get them to ask?' 'Aye, but don't hold your breath. ' Alec sloped into the bedroom, HDV camera dangling from his hand, and slumped against the windowsill. 'No offence, but this isn't making good television.' He looked around. 'Where's Her Royal Grumpiness?' 'Gone for a pee. They finished downstairs?' 'It's another crime scene soaked in blood, but there's nothing happening - no narrative drive. At this rate half the bloody programme's going to be shots of white oversuits searching stuff.'
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