‘Not my problem. I’ve got enough on my plate with your bloody Dr Marshall. There’s more than enough evidence to tie him to the victims in the morgue.’

‘But it’s too convenient, Duncan, even you must see that?’ I said.

‘You’re not going to hear me complaining that I’ve got a cast-iron case. You’re just sore because this time you’re going to lose.’ He smirked and took a seat in the back of the court.

Alex Grant shouted out, ‘Court!’ I pushed the heavy chair back and stood up. Marshall was led into the dock by two burly police officers. His eyes widened when he saw Gerry Cornwell seated in the back row of the public gallery but he exercised the utmost control. No emotion played on his face and he turned to face the front of the court.

I kept my eyes on the psychiatrist. It was personal with him; his face reddened and he was sweating. The swollen vein on his temple throbbed and told me he still believed my client had murdered Sam Jones. I was guessing, but I felt that there was more to his feelings than friendship or professional concern. Did he love her? Had they met again over the years? The vendetta against Kevin Milne and Renee Smith had started twenty years ago with the murder of Matthew Cook. Venom had not cooled over the years, and it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that Dr Gerry Cornwell had found out Renee’s address and murdered her. He might even be biding his time to take out my client. In my work and in my life, I had seen too many people blinded by emotions, blinded beyond all sense, and capable of more than they would ever have thought themselves capable of as a result. Was Cornwell a killer? Had he set Milne, or Marshall or whatever he was called, up?

The judge came onto the bench and smiled at me, a rare occurrence with other judges, but not this one. It was Louisa’s father, Sheriff Harrison, and we both always acknowledged that he owed me a favour for taking his daughter off his hands. Alex Grant called out the accused’s name. ‘Are you Dr Graham Marshall?’ he asked. I made no plea or declaration of guilt or innocence on behalf of my client once his identity was confirmed. He was led away to be taken back to prison. He was due to appear in this court in one week. His true identity would be known to the prison population within minutes, I would guess. I doubted that he would last much longer than a week.

If I was to save the man who I knew had been a monster, I had to prove him innocent of these recent crimes before it was others who passed judgement of their own kind.

Chapter Fifty-Six