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north-eastern edge of the city and has been on the same spot near Glasgow Cathedral and the Necropolis since George III was barking mad on the throne of the Empire and Glasgow was its second city. Which was about the last time the Royal had a lick of fresh paint.
    Millions of Glaswegians had been born there, died there, broken and mended there. It had seen more blood and guts than World War One and bits of it looked like they had been patched up with a bicycle repair kit. Over the years they’d torn down blocks, tagged on new buildings and added to it when they could and where they had to. New building here, maternity division there and plastic surgery unit somewhere else. It was an amazing building, architecturally stunning in parts and ugly blocks in others, so much more than the sum of its parts.
    It was the nature of the job and the city that Winter found himself in there much more than he’d like. Saturday night, Sunday morning in a city like Glasgow was odds on that someone got an injury that was going to end up in court and needed photographing. It wasn’t the same thing as getting them at the scene, nothing like it, but it paid the bills.
    It meant Winter knew his way round the labyrinth well enough, particularly around A&E, and there were a few doctors and nurses that he was on nodding terms with. Truth be told, there were a couple of nurses that he’d done more than nod to in the past but that was another story.
    He’d just turned into the corridor leading to A&E when he saw two cops coming the other way. Detective Sergeant Rachel Narey and a young uniformed constable. Well, well.
    Narey was looking good. Her dark hair was tied back and shining, her trim figure filling the dark suit and white blouse rather nicely indeed. No matter how businesslike she aimed for, this girl couldn’t help but look sexy. Winter didn’t know the constable but he looked like he was straight out of the cop college at Tulliallan. He also looked like he might have a sex wee just looking at Narey.
    ‘You here for Rory McCabe?’ Narey asked by way of a hello.
    ‘Sure am,’ Winter replied with a smile. ‘What’s the script? I just got a few details on the phone and headed over.’
    ‘Seventeen-year-old from Dennistoun. Found by two of his mates, screaming his lungs out in the middle of Craigpark Drive with a busted knee. They couldn’t get a car to stop so they picked him up and carried him here. McCabe’s saying nothing other than he’s no idea who did it or why. Lying little shite. He’s scared out of his mind and he knows a lot more about who did it than he’s letting on.’
    ‘Didn’t think they would send a DS for this,’ he teased her.
    She scowled at him but her brown eyes flashed.
    ‘Yeah, it’s not like I don’t have enough on my plate today but this falls under the Chief Constable’s pet project. Gordon wants us to come down heavy on gang stuff at the moment so here I am.’
    ‘That what it is, gang stuff?’
    ‘Looks that way but it’s usually knives with that lot. Baseball bats are more a big boy’s way of doing things. But like I said, the wee bastard isn’t saying. We’ve spoken to his parents and they swear blind he isn’t involved with any gangs. Was at college and had been looking to go on to uni. He’ll be hobbling there now.’
    ‘What’s the damage?’
    ‘Left knee smashed to bits. Taken a whack to the face as well and his arm’s nearly been twisted out the socket. They’ve got him on morphine for the pain.’
    ‘Nice.’
    ‘We’re going to let him stew and maybe talk to him tomorrow. Maybe. I’ve got some proper work to be getting on with. Your pal Addison has got me trying to put a name to a girl who doesn’t seem to have one, so that is going to take priority. Happy days.’
    ‘The girl that was found in Wellington Lane?’
    Narey narrowed her eyes at him curiously but didn’t bite.
    ‘Happy photographing, Mr Winter.’
    With that the DS and the young PC, who hadn’t said a