TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Rutledge was back at the police station. Oliver wasn’t there, but Pringle was. Rutledge explained what he wanted and was allowed to go alone to the cell.

When he was sure that the door was firmly closed behind him, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the sandalwood box.

Fiona took it with trembling fingers, then smiled at him over the lid as she lifted it. “It’s so good to touch my own things again. Even if it’s for just a little while. I hate wearing these dresses, dreary and plain as this room! They are enough to make the angels despair.”

She went to the narrow bed and poured out the contents, just as Drummond had done, then gently sorted through them.

And saw that her mother’s brooch was not there.

She turned and stared at him, unsure what to say.

“There’s a brooch in the box,” he said. “Just as you told me there would be.”

“It isn’t my mother’s. It belonged to Ealasaid. I’d forgotten it was there—”

“Did you deliberately lie to me, Fiona? Or have you told me half-truths from the start?”

Her face flushed, and she bit her lip. “I haven’t lied. I have only refused to tell you secrets that aren’t mine.”

“Then what has become of your mother’s brooch? How did it come to be found miles from Duncarrick, over a year ago?”

“I don’t know. It was here! In this box. I will swear to that on my grandfather’s soul!”

He wanted to believe her. Hamish told him to believe her.

“Can you trust Drummond? Would he have stolen anything from you—would he have considered the brooch fair payment for the care of the child, then sold it?”

“No—he wouldn’t do anything of the sort—!”

“Does he owe loyalty to anyone else? Would he have taken the brooch and given it to someone else, not realizing that it might be used to incriminate you?”

“No. No, I can’t believe he would do such a thing! Not Drummond.”

“His sister, then? Could she take the key when he wasn’t looking, and use it—or allow someone else to use it?”

She hesitated. “No. She wouldn’t dare. No.”

“Are you very sure, Fiona?” Rutledge asked. “The brooch is gone, after all. When you had told me you believed it was still in the box.”

Fiona turned away and began to gather up the things on the bed, her fingers lingering over them as she felt the pull of memory. “I’m sure.”

“Then someone else may have taken it. Can you think who that might be? A cleaning woman? A patron when he thought your back was turned? Or someone who might want a souvenir of the wicked harlot?”

“There’s no one else with a key. Except for the police—”