'We're losing him!' '--repeat: what is your location? ' 'Come on, come on, come on!' The engine was beginning to sound like a cat in a tumble drier. 'Somewhere south of Inverurie--' 'OLDMELDRUM!' Logan fought the bucking steering wheel, barrelling them towards the exit. 'Not Inverurie! Three miles south of Oldmeldrum, just off the A497. Side road on the right, before you get to Hatton Crook. Where there was that minibus accident last year!' They clipped the gate on their way out - the car lurching forward as it finally got its tyres back on solid tarmac. Treelined road, amber leaves, no sign of the Range Rover. 'Bastard!' Logan floored it. Hard right. Hard left. Another right and-- A horse, pirouetting and snorting in the middle of the road. Faulds yelled 'LOOK OUT!' and Logan slammed on the brakes. The manky Vauxhall skidded to a halt. 'What the hell do we do now?' 'Honk your horn!' Logan stared at Faulds. 'That's not going to help.' He clambered out into the cold afternoon. The animal looked half demented - eyes rolling, foaming white sweat at the neck, empty saddle, bridle swinging loose. There was no sign of the rider. And then Logan got a glimpse past the bucking, rearing monster: DI Insch's Range Rover was nose-down in a ditch, rear wheels spinning. Behind it another horse shifted from hoof to hoof, looking embarrassed while its rider lay flat on her back on the grass verge. The sound of raised voices cut through the cold afternoon. 'You stupid - fucking - inconsiderate - fucking ...' it was a woman, dressed in jodhpurs, sweatshirt, and riding hat, covered in mud all down one side of her body. She was beating the living crap out of Wiseman as he tried to crawl away from the crashed Range Rover. 'Inconsiderate - wanking - bastard!' Each word punctuated with another blow from her short riding crop. 'It's bad enough we've got to put up with arseholes like you roaring round the countryside.' She gave up on the whip and kicked Wiseman in the ribs instead. 'YOU COULD HAVE KILLED US!' Logan took one look at the spinning horse, and decided discretion was the better part of not getting his head staved-in by a flying hoof. He clambered over the nearest gate and hurried through the field. The front end of the Range Rover was a mess: steam billowed out from beneath the bonnet, windscreen shattered, headlights smashed, radiator buckled around a dirty big lump of stone, taking half the barbed-wire fence with it. 'You think there's no one else on the road? You think you own - the - fucking - road?' Logan picked his way through the debris and grabbed her before she could castrate Wiseman with her riding boots. 'Enough!' 'Did you see what this idiot--' 'Stand over there and calm down!' '--roaring round the corner in the middle of the road!' Logan pulled out his handcuffs and she froze.
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