There was a stunned pause from the other end, then:'But we've got strict instructions from DI Insch--' 'Aye, well now you've got strict instructions from me.' She clambered out of the car and into the blustery morning. The sky was three shades of grey, each one moving in a different direction, the trees and bushes whipping back and forth. Steel pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit up as she marched down the lane, leaving Logan to lock up and hurry after her. Alec jogged along at the rear, filming them both. 'Are you sure we should be doing this?' She stopped at a big, metal gate and hauled on the spring catch. 'There's more to being a police officer than sitting on your arse eating pies.' The field on the other side was stubble and mud - the crop long gone - but Steel stuck to the edge, picking her way around the soggier looking bits. 'And how come everyone thinks that cock-weasel Robertson was telling the truth when he told you about this place, eh?' she said,'Murdering wee bastard's no' exactly-- Aw shite!' She froze, standing on one leg. 'I've trod in something.' They walked the rest of the way to the small woods with Steel dragging her foot through the barley stubble like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. They had to clamber over a barbed-wire fence to get into the stand of trees, then fight their way through the rustling mass of spiny gorse bushes to get out the other side, with Steel swearing quietly the whole way. 'Who's stupid bloody idea was this?' 'Yours.' She scowled at him. 'You've got a lot to learn about being a sidekick, you know that, don't you?' From here the building looked even more dilapidated than it had from the car. Plus there was the smell. As if something had died, and been left to rot. 'Jesus ...' Steel whispered,'you thinking what I'm thinking?' She scrambled over a low stone wall and made for the front door. It was secured by a heavy padlock, the brass pitted with age and streaked with rust. Locked. A weed-infested gravel path ran around the house, greybrown spears of docken poking up through the tangled grass. 'Er ...' Alec fidgeted with his camera,'I'm not supposed to ... you know ... go into dangerous situations without backup.' The inspector stared up at the vacant windows. 'What are we, haggis rissoles?' 'It's the insurance: I have to have another BBC employee to watch my back in case--' 'Fine. You can sod off back to the car. No skin off my nose if you miss us catching Wiseman, is it?' The cameraman cursed, fiddled with his focus, then gave a determined nod. 'Aye, thought as much.' They tried round the back. The stench of decay was even stronger: definitely rotting meat. Logan froze. 'Might be a good idea to get the IB down here. If it's a body--' 'Wimp.' Steel picked her way into the undergrowth. Following her nose. This had been a proper country garden at one point: a small orchard sat in front of a crumbling brick wall, leaves the colour of cider, fruit blackened and rotting on the yellowy grass. A greenhouse with no glass. A shed on the brink of collapse, the wood disintegrating, the contents long surrendered to mould and decay. The stench was coming from the other side of a clump of brambles: a sheep, lying on its side, bloated and covered with flies and maggots. Logan gagged. So did Steel and Alec.
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