The dean’s office remained in silence. Bancho stared around the walls. Behind the dean’s desk there was an oil painting of Lord President MacGregor, presiding in the Court of Session in the mid-nineteenth century. He had no doubt the man was a relative of Brodie’s. Brodie’s father, grandfather and most of her male lineage had been judges in the highest courts in Scotland. As he looked into the smoke-damaged painting, he fancied he could see a family resemblance. This particular Lord MacGregor, dressed in the traditional ermine and red silk robes, looked like a hard man. There was a fixed, determined set to his mouth that Bancho had come across several times in his many encounters with Brodie. He cleared his throat. He was tired of losing, and he didn’t care if he stood on toes here.

‘I was thinking, if this goes the way I think it will, it’s going to be a case where no one wins. Whoever takes it on has a poisoned chalice, because these killers should never have been released.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘It might be best for the prosecution services if we had an outsider.’

Agnes Sampson glared at him out of the corner of her eye. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and, in her opinion, Ranald Hughes wasn’t up to the job. Maybe he was thinking along similar lines himself, for Hughes jumped for the bait. ‘Did you have anyone in mind, Detective Inspector Bancho?’ Bancho tried not to smile. ‘The picture behind your desk, Dean–I take it he’s one of Ms McLennan’s ancestors?’

The dean turned round in his chair. Craning his neck upwards, he stared at the portrait. After a long moment he said, ‘Yes, he is.’ He nodded and turned to Ranald Hughes. ‘I keep forgetting she’s Arbuthnot’s bastard.’ Brodie’s father, Lord Arbuthnot, had been Scotland’s highest judge before he had been dispatched by Kailash, Brodie’s birth mother. The manner of his death had been covered up at the highest level and most people, including these fools, thought he had died a hero’s death. For a second, just a second, Bancho felt sorry for Brodie having to put up with these pompous arseholes. No wonder she only did defence work. ‘I’ll speak to her grandfather tonight,’ the dean said, throwing the pictures across to DI Bancho. ‘I believe he is abroad, but I’m sure I will be able to make contact. Have you any idea who the porn star is?’ He smiled at his own pale joke. Bancho had decided not to be polite. He had what he wanted and he stared coldly at the dean. ‘The photographer caught the registration number of his car…we’re running it just now. When we have a name we’ll make an arrest. He should be in custody, for questioning at least, this evening.’