'Read it, you idiot. Control says Munro called through an update at two o'clock: Elizabeth Nichol is local, forty- nine, single, lives alone; one sister, one brother. Both parents are dead ... She likes swimming, romantic fiction, and collecting snow globes.' 'No accounting for taste.' Rennie flicked through the report till he got to the photograph of Elizabeth Nichol's bruised face. 'How come she's not fat-tastic? Thought the Flesher liked them self-basting?' 'Wrong place at the wrong time. If she hadn't been borrowing a cookery book from the Youngs, he wouldn't have touched her ...' Logan went back to the death board. 'Mind you, Goulding thinks Nichol might be the end of some sort of chain - that she was a'close to home' victim the Flesher's been working up to.' A thoughtful expression slowly crawled its way across Rennie's face. 'Maybe the Flesher followed her to the Youngs' and they were the ones in the wrong place at the wrong time?' 'Which brings us right back to how does the Flesher know her?' Logan picked up the latest crime-scene photo from the board - Elizabeth Nichol's lounge, covered in shattered snow globes and ruptured furniture. 'There was no sign of forced entry, so she let him into her house. That makes him a friend, or a colleague, neighbour, or family member.' 'Or Chief Constable--' 'I'm not going to tell you again. Steel's doing the neighbours; see if you can dig up Nichol's brother and sister ...' Logan checked his notes. 'Jimmy and Kelley. I'll take the workmates.' Which was easier said than done. PC Munro hadn't passed on any details about Elizabeth Nichol's employers - Logan had no idea who she worked for. He dug out his phone and started dialling.
Kelley had cried for a while. It was difficult holding her with the bars in the way, but in the end the shuddering had stopped. Heather gave her a squeeze. 'How you feeling?' 'Better ... I feel better.' She sniffed. 'I've never told anyone about it before.' Sigh. 'I miss them. I really do miss them. They were so kind. If I messed up they'd sit down and talk to me. No more cigarette burns or cracked ribs, black eyes ... Dad never raised his hand to me, not even when I broke his coronation mug.' 'They sound nice.' 'HELP ME!' The bloody policewoman had started up again. Kelley shifted in the darkness. 'Heather? I'm glad you're here.' 'I'M A POLICE OFFICER!' Heather smiled. 'I'm glad you're here too. Strange isn't it, being glad someone else is trapped in this little metal prison ...' 'YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS!' 'You think she's ever going to shut up?' 'THEY'LL BE LOOKING FOR ME!' Kelley patted Heather's hand. 'Yes.' And then she moved away from the bars. 'Do you want any more medicine?' 'LET ME GO YOU BASTARD!'
