Claire shook her head. “No. You’ll need to ask Jackie all the details of what actually happened that afternoon,” she grimaced. “Ever the lawyer, you see, I’m not giving you any hearsay evidence. I’ll also speak to Jackie’s lawyer, Jim Carstairs, so you can have access to all the legal papers. Remember—what I’m interested in is getting Jackie freed. To do that, you don’t have to provide definitive proof against any individual. You simply have to come up with enough new evidence to cast reasonable doubt on the conviction.”

“I might not have a law degree, but I do have a qualification in Scots law for journalists, Claire. I’m well aware of the standard of proof required by the courts,” Lindsay retorted, feeling patronized by Claire’s spelling out of the situation.

Claire flushed. “Very well. What do you plan to do next?”

“I want to see Jackie as soon as that can be arranged. In the meantime, I’m going to take a look at the flats where Alison lived. I’ve borrowed a set of keys from a friend of mine who lives in the block. I want to refresh my memory on the layout. I’ll ring Jim Carstairs and arrange a time to see the papers. And I’ll look up a few contacts from my Clarion days. I’ll call you tomorrow evening and let you know how I’m going on.”

“Where can I reach you?” Claire asked. “Cordelia told me you rented your flat out when you moved to London three years ago.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, the students who are in it now have a lease that doesn’t run out till July. So I’m staying with a friend.” Lindsay scribbled down Sophie’s number on a sheet from her notebook. She got to her feet. “Goodbye, Claire. I’ll see myself out.”

Lindsay drove out of the city center with a sour taste in her mouth. How could Cordelia have fallen for a pretentious yuppie like Claire Ogilvie? To distract herself, she studied Great Western Road as she drove out toward Alison’s flat in Hyndland. There had been a few changes here in recent years. It all looked smarter, somehow, the last-ditch hippy emporia of the seventies having finally vanished, overtaken by bookshops, up-market restaurants, and interesting food shops. I like being back, she thought with surprise as she swung left off the main road and headed for Caird House. The flats were a ten-story modern block, built by a housing association in the late seventies. Alison’s flat was on the sixth floor, two below Rosalind’s.