‘Aye, that’s me,’ said Bancho. The old man led him through the Corridor, as the Library of the Faculty of Advocates was known. First editions of all major books lined its shelves. He hoped they had a good sprinkler system in case this lot ever went up in flames. He craned his neck, staring at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with priceless leather-bound volumes. The old man opened a heavy Georgian door, which led into a circular room where Agnes Sampson was sitting down having tea with a man of diminutive stature. His black hair was slicked back with handmade gentleman’s pomade, the smell of pine and amber scenting the room. He wore large, dark-rimmed circular glasses–hardly a style statement, but they did add to his air of immense intelligence. DI Bancho suspected that David Menteith, Dean of Faculty, knew exactly what he was doing when he purchased them. The dean smiled and stretched out his hand. Bancho bent in the middle to shake it.

‘I’ve asked a senior member of Faculty to join us…Ranald Hughes QC. Have you come across him before?’

Disappointment flooded through Bancho. ‘I haven’t met Mr Hughes personally but I’m aware that he prosecuted the Senga Cameron murder trial against the defence team led by Brodie McLennan.’

The dean’s nose wrinkled. ‘Ah, the redoubtable Ms McLennan; a formidable opponent, I fear.’

There was a knock at the door and Ranald Hughes QC walked in. ‘Did I hear someone mention Brodie McLennan? What’s she been up to now?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. We were just discussing acquaintances,’ said the dean, changing the subject; perhaps the Senga Cameron case was still a sore point. ‘I wanted to call you in at the start. We have a tricky situation on our hands and it needs to be handled delicately from the word go.’

Ranald Hughes nodded, walked over to the silver tea tray and poured himself Earl Grey into a fine bone-china cup, added a slice of lemon and sat down. Bancho stared at pretty much everything in the room, his inferiority bubbling.

On the desk were the contents of Detective Inspector Sam Jones’s briefcase. The dean held up a photograph of a naked man in bed with an attractive dark-haired woman.

‘Is it a blackmail case?’ asked Ranald Hughes, looking about him at the other people in the room.

All eyes in the room turned to DI Bancho. ‘We’re not sure quite what we have. These photographs were found in the possession of Detective Inspector Sam Jones. She travelled up from London to see me about the spate of recent murders here. We have, as you probably know, three victims. The killer is removing the heart.’

‘Ah. I didn’t know he was a trophy-taker,’ said Ranald Hughes, raising an eyebrow.