Marshall stumbled out of the cells. He had lost some of his edge, his navy pinstriped suit was not freshly pressed, and his Oxford cotton white shirt had been worn before. It seemed Alison Marshall was not standing by her man. If that was the case, then Lothian and St Clair would have to take over, ensuring he had suitable clothes for court, especially if he appeared before a jury. The fifteen jurors definitely judged a book by its cover. Marshall sat down opposite me. His face was a mess, bearing the after-effects of Gerry Cornwell’s fists. It seemed more and more likely that DI Sam Jones was involved; the original prosecuting team had already proved that they were not afraid to get their hands dirty. I leaned in towards Marshall. I didn’t want anyone to overhear. ‘I saw Renee yesterday,’ I whispered. His eyes widened. I heard his breath catch in his throat. He crushed his teeth together and the sound grated on my nerves. After a moment he asked, ‘How is she?’

‘Dead.’

‘Dead?’ he repeated and grabbed my hand. ‘Was she murdered?’

I nodded at him.

‘Was her heart taken?’

I nodded again.

‘Don’t you see? It just proves what I’ve been saying. Someone is setting me up.’ He smiled, then squeezed the back of my hand to make sure I was paying attention. ‘Do you have any idea who?’ he asked.

‘Sam Jones,’ I said with authority.

He pushed his chair back from the table and nodded. His hand went up to his face and rubbed his cheek. ‘It makes sense. That bitch has always hated me; she’s even faked her own death, hasn’t she? Well, she’s totally screwed up–how could I have killed Renee if I was in jail? Stupid, stupid, stupid.’ He was lost in thought; I studied the tic throbbing on the side of his neck and his white, bloodless knuckles. I didn’t need to be psychic to see his eyes had moved up to the right, probably whilst he fantasized about strangling Sam Jones. If he had moved his eyes to the left, he would have been recalling her murder. However, his point was bang on–in which case I was dealing with an innocent man and ethics demanded I do my utmost to have him set free.

The case of HMA v. Graham Marshall was being heard in chambers, which meant no member of the press or public was allowed in. Agnes Sampson had prepared the complaint herself. She was trying to limit access to the file papers in a vain attempt to keep Marshall’s notorious past a secret. Agnes was going to these lengths not for his sake but her own. She knew I would appeal any mistake she or her office made and hang them with it. Agnes Sampson was determined to give me no rope.