What the hell was taking so long? His hands were damp again. Logan nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened. It was a prison officer with a plastic cup of water. She handed it over. 'Right,' she said,'I want you to know we don't approve of this. We've worked too long and too hard to get Angus where he is. But I'm agreeing to this meeting because there's a clear and immediate danger to human life. I need you to understand that if you reinforce his negative behavioural patterns, it could put him back years.' She paused, giving Logan a chance to say something, but he didn't. 'I'll bring him up from the cell block.' She paused, halfway to the door. 'We don't like to handcuff them when they're in the treatment rooms. Are you going to be OK with that?' 'Not really. No ...' Logan took a sip of water. 'We ... didn't get on too well last time we met.' 'I know. He's still got the scars.' Logan tried for a smile, but it wouldn't stick. 'Snap.' She looked him up and down, her voice softening. 'He really has made a lot of changes. The STOP programme--' 'I just want to get this over with. OK?' She shrugged. 'You're the boss.' No he wasn't - because if he were the boss he wouldn't bloody be here.
Angus Robertson really had changed. The scruffy man in the boiler suit was gone, replaced by an HM Prison mannequin: blue and white striped shirt buttoned up to the chin, a sharp crease in his jeans, black shoes polished till they shone. He'd even slicked back his thinning brown hair. Robertson sat perfectly still in one of the room's two soft armchairs, hands folded in his lap. Face expressionless. And when he spoke it was as if something dead had slithered into the room. 'You're looking well.' Logan just stared at him. 'Why thank you,' Robertson gave a fleeting smile. 'I've been working out.' 'I didn't say anything.' 'Please, I've rehearsed this conversation so many, many times. It would be a shame to waste--' 'What's with the fake English accent?' Robertson smiled. 'Accent?' 'Fine, I don't care.' Logan's palms were sweating again; the man made his skin crawl. 'You said you had information--' 'Ah yes, Kenneth Wiseman. He was in the cell next door. Lovely man. We had many interesting chats about ...' Robertson made a tiny hand gesture. 'Life and death.' 'Where is he?' 'Now, now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. What are you going to give me in return?'
