Lindsay sighed and helped herself to a cigarette. It wasn’t just Jackie’s body that had been coarsened by prison life. Lindsay remembered her as a precise user of language, unusual in the rough and tumble world of newspapers in that she seldom swore. Now she’d fit in comfortably on any ship’s bridge, never mind a newsdesk. Lindsay gave a mental shrug and carried on with her fruitless questions. “Was there any evidence at all that didn’t fit the picture?”

“Not really. But Jim will show you all there is to see. It’s hopeless, isn’t it? I don’t know why I was pinning my hopes on you. There’s nothing anyone can do, is there?” Jackie said despondently, the animation that had briefly illuminated her face departing as swiftly as it had come.

“It’s not hopeless,” Lindsay lied. “I’ve hardly started. I’ve got one or two ideas of my own to pursue. I know most of the lads on the Clarion. There must have been some gossip kicking around at the time. And looking at the evidence might give me a few ideas. It’s amazing what a fresh eye can come up with. Don’t give up, Jackie. Alison Maxwell screwed up too many lives when she was alive. I’m damned if I’m going to stand by and do nothing while she screws up yours from beyond the grave.”

“Big words, Gordon,” Lindsay muttered to herself as she drove away from the prison, leaving Jackie behind her. “And how the hell are you going to deliver this time?” In spite of her sympathy for Jackie, Lindsay had been only too glad to get away from the depressing encounter, especially after it became clear to her that Jackie knew nothing of Claire’s affair with Cordelia. That would be a pleasant surprise for her to come out to, Lindsay thought angrily. No home, no job, no lover.

Lindsay thrust the thought of Claire and Cordelia away and reviewed what Jackie had told her as she drove back to Glasgow. No leads there, she mused. But she still had one or two cards up her sleeve. And maybe Jim Carstairs could give her some pointers that would be worth chasing up.