“I won’t make it to Scotland in time. It’s late and I’ve had three days of hard driving. No, it’s information I need, sir. You told me earlier that you knew the procurator-fiscal in the MacDonald case. Well enough to tell me anything about his family?”

There was an instant of silence, then David Trevor said, “Yes, I can give you what I know. He married a young woman from the neighborhood of Stirling. If I remember, her father was a lawyer, and a brother was a judge. I think I met her once or twice at some official gathering. They had three children. Cathy, the daughter, is married to an Englishman and they live in Gloucester. George, the older son, is with a London firm. The youngest, Robert, is dead.”

“Did either son serve in the war?”

“George was in the Navy. Invalided out in late ’17. Robert was killed in France. Artillery. Early 1916, I think.”

“Was Robert married?”

“No, there was a girl in Edinburgh whom he was unofficially engaged to. It was an understood thing, but no announcement had been made. Then she died of appendicitis. I don’t know quite when—well before Robert was killed, certainly. In the winter of ’15, I think it was. Why this sudden interest in Robert?”

“I don’t know,” Rutledge said truthfully. “Could you describe him?”

“He was dark, and well set up. And I’m told he had the most wonderful wit. Ross had heard him offering the toasts at a wedding, he had the guests bent double with laughter. He said that Robert could have stood for Parliament if he’d wanted to go in that direction. But he was interested in law or banking, I forget which.” Rutledge could almost hear the smile in Trevor’s voice. “Have I earned a consulting fee for my knowledge of Scottish social circles?”

“Without doubt! Thank you, I appreciate your help.”

“Will you be coming again, Ian? Before you leave Scotland?”

There was a quiet longing in the seemingly casual question.

“As soon as I can,” Rutledge promised, and said good-bye.

ANOTHER NIGHT ON the road saw Rutledge back in Duncarrick, tired and out of sorts. He stopped at the police station before he went to the hotel, and asked to speak to Fiona.

McKinstry was on duty, and he said diffidently, “You’ve been away, I think.”

“Yes, there was business outside of London to see to.”

McKinstry took him back and opened the door himself, smiling at Fiona. He said wistfully to Rutledge, “Shall I stay and take notes?”

“No, no, it isn’t necessary.” He waited until McKinstry was out of earshot down the hall before going into the small cell and closing the door behind him.