'Sort of a cross between deputy club president and accountant, I think.' 'And this can't wait till tomorrow?' 'Only time the guy could make it. You want tea or coffee?' 'Surprise me.' When Logan got back from the canteen, Alec was slumped in one of the visitor chairs, moaning about DCS Bain. 'You know where I spent all day? Bored off my tits filming meetings. Yesterday too.' Logan handed the inspector's coffee over. 'Ooh, ta.' Steel took a slurp. 'That's what you get for following Bain about, isn't it? Should have stuck with the A-team, you disloyal bastard.' She swept a hand through her startled-terrier hair. 'We're much prettier too.' Alec just sagged deeper into his chair. 'You guys aren't up to anything exciting are you?' The inspector nodded. 'Fifteen minutes I'm off to the pub.' She pointed at Logan. 'Laughing Boy here's going to Trinity Hall because he's got no mates.' And at that the cameraman perked up. 'Cool! Can I come?' Logan shrugged. 'It--' 'Hold on a minute ...' Steel put her coffee down and squinted at him. 'You planning on solving anything while you're there?' 'Doubt it,' he picked up the list of trade members interviewed in 1990 and stuck it under his arm,'half these guys were in their late fifties when Brooks spoke to them seventeen years ago. Most of them'll be making sausages in that great butcher's shop in the sky by now.' 'Aye, well,' Steel grabbed her coat. 'I'm no' taking any chances. If Alec's going, so am I.'
The little old man who met them at the side door to Trinity Hall was all smiles, cardigan and wrinkled suit. 'I've always wanted to help out in a murder enquiry,' he said, ushering them in to a tiny stairwell. 'I love The Bill, Frost, Midsomer Murders, CSI, Wire in the Blood, only that's not really a police show, is it? More one of those psychological things. I met someone from Taggart once.' He stopped with one hand on the institution-green double doors. 'Now, would you like the tuppence ha'penny tour, or the full Trinity Hall experience?' Logan pulled on a smile. 'How about we just make it about the Fleshers, sir?' 'Perfect! Oh and call me Ewan, 'sir' makes me sound like an old man!' He winked, laughed, coughed for a bit - ending in a thin, rattling wheeze - then opened the double doors, revealing a long, dim corridor lined with ancient, grimylooking paintings. Low-wattage spots cast tiny pools of light on the pictures and dark-blue carpet. 'Trinity Hall has to be one of the best-kept secrets in Aberdeen: did you know we have a portrait of King William the Lion here? One of the oldest paintings in the place, been in the trades' possession for centuries. Absolutely priceless, can't even get it insured. We've got swords from the Battle of Harlaw in 1411. You see, the Seven Incorporated Trades have always been an integral part of the city. Did you know that for hundreds of years ...' Logan let him chunter on about the Weavers, Wrights and Coopers, Shoemakers, Hammermen, Tailors, Bakers, and Fleshers, as they wandered past darkened meeting rooms. Steel slouched along at the back, making popping noises with her nicotine gum. Strange, old-fashioned paintings in ornate golden frames hung on one side of the corridor, their paint blackened by the passage of time. Each had a coat of arms on it, some decoration, and a wodge of text, nearly indecipherable in the low light. On the other side it was all portraits, sour-faced old men in various disapproving poses. 'Bloody hell,' said Steel, interrupting an involved anecdote about the first Flesh House being built in 1631 to stop people slaughtering animals in the streets,'who ordered the ugly blokes with a side order of extra ugly?' She pointed
