Logan sighed and started for the stairs. 'Our master's voice.' Flat six was on the top floor, the door painted dark red with a little brass plaque above the letterbox:'JAMES MCLAUGHLIN PHD' engraved at the top,'CERBERUS, MEDUSA &MRS POO' underneath. Logan rang the doorbell. It was answered two minutes later by a young, bearded man in his pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers. Mid twenties. Cup of tea in one hand, slice of toast in the other. Glasses perched on the end of his nose. He took one look at the three of them standing in the hallway, saw Alec's camera, and said,'Ten minutes. I get to plug the book twice. It stays in shot the whole time. Agreed?' He stuck the toast in his mouth then offered his hand to seal the deal. There was jam on it. Logan didn't shake it. 'We're not from the television, Mr McLaughlin.' He dug out his warrant card. 'DS McRae: Grampian Police, this is Chief Constable Faulds: West Midlands. We're here to ask you a few questions about the night your parents disappeared.' 'It was twenty years ago!' McLaughlin rolled his eyes. 'Look, read the book, OK? It's all in there. I can't remember anything else.' 'We'll try not take up too much of your time, sir. It is important.' Sigh. 'OK, OK. You can come in. But watch where you're walking. I'm pretty sure Medusa's been sick, but I haven't found out where yet ...' James McLaughlin's living room was littered with books. A computer desk sat in the bay window, covered in bits of paper and more books. A typist's chair sat in front of it, a large, grey, furry cat watching them from the seat, master of all it surveyed. McLaughlin shooed it off. 'Come on Cerberus, that's daddy's chair.' Logan couldn't see anywhere to sit himself, so he moved a pile of paperbacks from the settee to the floor. 'Sorry if we got you out of bed.' The man shrugged. 'Nah, you're all right: I was working.' He swept a hand down the front of his pyjamas. 'Standard writers' uniform.' Faulds picked his way round the room, peering at the framed photographs on the wall. 'I read your book,' he said at last. 'Very good. I especially liked the bit about all the fancy policemen coming up from down south.' McLaughlin beamed. 'Glad you liked it. It was ...' He frowned. 'Detective Superintendent! Thought I recognized you. Jesus, you've not changed much.' 'Chief Constable now. For my sins.' Faulds picked up a little wooden plaque, read the inscription and put it back down again. 'I'm really glad you did something with your life, Jamie. Some people would have curled up in a little ball and never come out again.' 'Yes, well, I was always good at English and my therapist thought writing the whole thing down would be ... well ... therapeutic . And now look.' He smiled, indicating the four framed covers on the wall - all bestselling children's books. Aberdeen's answer to J.K. Rowling, only nowhere near as famous. Or rich. 'But you're not here to talk about Simon and the Goblins, are you?' 'You've seen the news?' McLaughlin shuddered and pointed at a copy of the Daily Mail sitting on a pile of encyclopaedias -'CANNIBAL KILLER STILL ATLARGE'. 'Difficult to miss it. Been having nightmares ever since I heard about those body parts down the docks. Last night I dreamt Wiseman came back to finish me off ... Took half a bottle of Macallan to make that one go away.' He wrapped his dressing gown around himself, tying the chord tight. Logan pulled out his notebook, flipping through the pages till he got to the bit about McLaughlin's parents. 'We've been reviewing the old case files. They're a bit vague about what happened before you got to the house.'
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