‘As far as we can tell, there is no known link between Dr Marshall and Alan Pearson. In fact, Mr Pearson lived in Newcastle. He was only up on business when he fell into Cupid’s clutches,’ said Sheehy. Bancho was right. The Cupid monicker was already embedded. Sheehy handed me a cup, which I placed down on a desk to cool as she continued. ‘There’s no link between Dr Marshall and any of the victims except the one you know about, the one he was sleeping with. The others–Grant Lindsay and Jeff Connors–had no links with each other. There’s nothing there. They don’t live near each other, nothing. All they had was that they were all in Edinburgh on business at different times and they all used prostitutes. There’s not a single other thing.’

‘There’s Sam.’

Dr Gerry Cornwell lifted his head and fumbled in his inside pocket to pull out a brown leather wallet. ‘DI Sam Jones is still missing and, if your client is who I think he is, she has a definite connection with him apart from the recent photographs in her possession. It goes way back. Way back.’

He handed me a battered, dog-eared photograph. The hairstyles told me it had been taken in the Eighties, and a much younger and more sober Dr Gerry Cornwell was standing with a pretty young policewoman.

‘Sam Jones, I presume?’ I handed him the photograph back.

‘We haven’t found a body, so there is still hope,’ said PC Sheehy, handing him his cup. Tears rolled from Cornwell’s eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. ‘If he’s taken her, she’s dead.’

‘Are you sure you’re strong enough to identify him?’ Bancho asked Cornwell. Bancho’s upbringing meant he didn’t cry and he distrusted men who did.

‘Are you having an identity parade?’ I asked, trying to deflect his question. Where the hell they were going to find a bunch of people who resembled Graham Marshall was beyond me. He was a professional man, too old to fit into the same line-up as students, too affluent and well fed not to stand out like a sore thumb in a parade of the usual suspects. ‘Button your lip and save your objections till later,’ said Bancho, straightening up his tie. A red sore patch covered his hand. ‘We’re not having an ID parade. Dr Cornwell is not a witness to any of the incidents in Edinburgh. We merely want to see if he recognizes Dr Marshall from past dealings.’ He was halfway out the door when he turned to me and said, ‘Now, do you want to come or not?’ I nodded at Bancho as PC Sheehy walked in front of me. An air of trepidation followed our little party. It seemed too much for the law enforcement officers to hope for that they had caught Cupid so easily.