'Ms?'

'Saunders.'

'Right, Ms Saunders, we're looking for Agnes Walker. We understand she lives here?'

The woman's eyes narrowed. 'Why?'

'We… er… that is…' Rennie passed a panicked look back at Logan, who hadn't actually told the constable what they were doing here.

'We want to speak to her about an assault that happened two weeks ago.'

Ms Saunders shifted her attention from Rennie to Logan as he told her that Agnes wasn't in any trouble, they wanted to find out who beat her up, so they could stop him from doing it again.

The woman folded her arms, making the hem of her kimono rise a good four inches. 'And how come you're suddenly so bloody interested in Agnes's welfare? Eh? Where the hell were you when he was beatin' the shite out of her?'

She squared her shoulders. 'Come to think of it, how come it's taken you this long to take a bloody interest?'

Logan had to admit she had a point. 'She told me it was an accident.'

'An accident?' She snorted. 'Are you kiddin' me? You see the state of her? That was no accident, some bastard tried to strangle the poor cow! Four days she was laid up in her bed, pissing blood half the time. Sheets were in a hell of a mess.'

'Did she tell you who did it?'

'She didn't know. She did, I'd've been round there in a shot with a pair of rusty shears, cut the bastard's prick right off!'

Logan peered over her shoulder into the darkened flat.

'Look, can we talk about this inside-'

'No you fuckin' don't: I don't do freebies. And definitely no threesomes!'

'I'm not looking for a "freebie", OK? And neither is he,'

Logan jerked a thumb in Rennie's direction. It was difficult not to notice that the constable was spending an inordinate amount of time staring at the flesh appearing beneath the woman's slipping kimono. 'Give us a description – did Agnes tell you what her attacker looked like?'

She shrugged. 'Medium height, brownish hair, ordinary looking.' When Logan didn't say anything, just stood there silently, she sighed again. 'Look, I don't know, OK? Said he had a flashy motor, one of them big BMWs. That's all I can remember. You want any more, you'll have to ask her yourself.'

'I will. Where is she?'

'No idea.'

A man's voice echoed out from inside the flat – hoarse, deep and sounding of Fraserburgh: 'Whit is it?' She turned and shouted back, 'It's nothin'. Start on yer own, I'll be in in a minute,' before turning back to Logan. 'She didn't come back this morning.'

The man's voice again, 'Are you fuckin' comin' or what?' and Ms Saunders sighed. 'In a fuckin' minute!' She stuck out her hand to Logan. 'Give us your card. She'll call you when she gets back, and if she doesn't, I will. Wee shite did that to her deserves all he gets.' And as soon as Logan handed over his Grampian Police business card the door was slammed in their faces.

'So,' said Rennie on the way back to the car. 'You want to tell me what that was all about?'

'Agnes Walker had the crap beaten out of her about twelve days ago. Four days later, give or take, Rosie Williams is beaten to death. Four days after that it's Michelle Wood's turn.'

'So?' Rennie plipped the locks and clambered in behind the wheel.

'What if Rosie Williams wasn't the guy's first?' said Logan getting into the passenger seat. 'Suppose he's been out there hunting before, only victim number one puts up a fight and he can't finish the job. He learns from his mistakes and out he goes again. He tries Rosie, and she's not as strong as the first one, or maybe he's just better prepared this time: he kicks and punches her till she's dead. Four days later he's back again. He did Rosie right there in the street; anyone could come along – too risky. This time he snatches his victim.

Instead of killing her at the scene, he takes her away somewhere quiet and secluded where he can enjoy himself a bit more. Less chance of discovery.' Rennie did a three-point turn and headed back towards Anderson Drive as Logan fought with the seatbelt. 'The more he does it, the better he gets. So far, Skanky Agnes is the only one who's seen him and lived. Soon as we're back at FHQ get a lookout request out.for her. We need to know what he looks like.'

Rennie whistled, waiting for his turn at the roundabout onto the dual carriageway. 'So that definitely puts the kybosh on Jamie McKinnon killing Rosie 'If it's the same man.'

The car lurched onto the roundabout as Rennie floored it, nipping out before an articulated lorry could flatten them.

He drove straight across the Drive, heading back into town.

'You think it's the same man, don't you?'

Logan shrugged. 'Either that or it's a huge bloody coincidence …' He watched the houses on Rosehill Drive go by for a moment, before coming to a conclusion. 'Change of plan: drop me off at the Journals. I've got to see a man about some drugs.'

As Rennie pulled away from the P amp;J's concrete bunker, Logan called Colin Miller on his mobile. 'Colin, it's me.'

Silence from the other end of the phone. 'Look, Colin, I know Steel can be an arse at times, but…' He couldn't actually think of an excuse for the inspector's behaviour, so he settled for, 'But I could really do with your help.'

'I'm busy.'

'Five minutes. I'm outside. Come on, we can go for a walk in the sunshine A deep sigh. 'OK, OK – if I do, will you promise taste leave me alone?'

'Scout's honour.' Ten minutes later Miller appeared, dressed in his shirtsleeves, jacket slung casually over one shoulder. They walked up the Lang Stracht, sun on their faces, bus fumes in their lungs. 'So, you want to tell me about your friends from down south?'

Miller sighed. 'You know the bloody answer to that.' He glanced back at the bulky, grey P amp;J building as it slowly disappeared from sight. 'Everything fucked.' He shook his head. 'I was on taste a nice wee gig here, know what I mean?

All the front page stories I wanted, nice car, good woman He trailed off as he remembered he was talking to Isobel's ex-lover. 'Aye, well… you know. Now these fuckers are sere win' it all up.'

'I saw your piece on McLennan Homes.'

'Piece of shite, that was. Can you believe I had taste beg taste get that on the front page?' He gave a bitter smile. 'Everyone thinks I've lost it, Laz.'

'What they do, threaten you?'

Miller looked up at him, brow furrowed. 'What, Malkie's lads? Oh, just your basic how hard would it be to type with no fingers? Tellin' me whit a lovely home I have and how pretty Isobel is, what a shame it'd be if somethin' happened to her face… So I published, and now I'm damned: stuck doin' shitey wee pieces on fairs and bloody bake sales.'

'If it makes you feel any better, last night they broke a guy's fingers in hospital. Smacked him around a bit. Probably forced him to hide a couple of condoms of coke up his arse.

So he probably had a worse day than you.' Miller almost smiled; it was the first time in ages Logan had seen him without a scowl on his face. 'Look, you need these guys to go away – I can do that if you help me. I'll keep you out of it. I just need to know who they are, where they're staying, anything you've got.'

They walked along in silence for a while, heading back towards the newspaper building. Up above, the pure blue of the sky was beginning to fade, a long, low purple band of cloud coming in off the sea. 'Brendan Sutherland,' said Miller at last, 'known as "Chib" to his pals, on account of him stabbin' folk, like.'

' "Chib"? What is he, west-coast mafia?'

Miller laughed, short and sharp. 'Naw, he's a wannabe Weegie. An Edinburgh tosspot with delusions of grandeur.

Only trouble is, as you know, he's a fuckin' huge tosspot.

When he turned up first time, I did me some diggin'. Wee shite's got himself a big reputation. Doesn't play in the shallow end of the cesspit. Malk the Knife likes taste keep Chib for breakin' in new territories. Fixin' stuff. Gettin' rid of people Malkie doesn't want anyone to find.'