is that OK?' 'I'll look after you.' Heather smiled, blinked, wiped her nose on the back of her hand, enjoying the warmth of Duncan's body. 'Is this what going mad feels like?' There was a moment's silence, then Duncan said,'Yes, you're finally turning into your mother.' 'You're such an arsehole.' 'Don't you know it's bad luck to speak ill of the dead?' But he kissed her head again. 'You're still an arsehole.' She closed her eyes and snuggled into Duncan's shoulder. He smelt of Old Spice and fresh blood. 'Did it hurt? Dying?' 'Shhhh ... go to sleep.' And she did.
Insch leant on the horn again. 'Get out the bloody way!' Up ahead the tractor took no notice, just continued to trundle down the A90 at thirty miles an hour, huge globs of mud flying from its rear wheels. Logan turned up the volume on his mobile phone and stuck a finger in his other ear, trying to hear the voice of Control as Insch launched into another bout of horn blowing. BREEEEEEEEEEP! '--three cars and--' BREEEEEEEEEEP! 'What?' 'Shift it! POLICE!' '--no one there when--' BREEEEEP BREEEEEEEEEEP! Logan slapped a hand over the mouthpiece. 'Will you lay off it for five minutes? I can't hear a bloody word!' The inspector's face took on its familiar about-to-explode tinge, but at least he was quiet in the run-up to detonation. Logan asked Control to go back to the start, then gave Insch the edited version:'They've got two cars at the address Robertson gave us.' 'And?' 'The bastard lied to us. Wiseman's not there.' The inspector swore. 'Tell them I want the place watched - twenty-four-seven. At least two teams, low profile.' BREEEEEEEEEEP!'Move that bloody tractor!' Logan passed on the instructions and hung up as the tractor finally indicated and pulled into a rutted, muddy track, the farmer giving them the one-fingered-salute as they roared past.
