She paused to catch her breath. He waited patiently and smiled to encourage her.

“People who appear in court are often much more worried about being in the paper than they are about the fine they receive from the magistrates,” she said. “ James usually did the monthly magistrates court and that was strange in itself. Most editors think themselves too superior to mix with petty criminals—they’re more likely to be taking the magistrates out to lunch. James said it was his way of keeping his finger on the pulse of the town, but of course it wasn’t that at all.”

Ramsay interrupted gently, reluctantly, showing her that he was entertained by her conversation, but that he needed all the details.

“What did happen when you were in the court that Monday?” he asked.

“There was this drunk driver,” she said, making the most of the drama, playing up to him, watching his reaction. “He’d been in court before and he was disqualified for twelve months. But he had his own business and was much more worried about the bad publicity than about losing his licence. He came up to me in the waiting room and asked if there was any way of keeping his name out of the paper. Of course I said it was impossible. He got quite cross and said he had heard it was possible to come to an arrangement about it. He was a wealthy man, he said. Money was no object. At first I thought he was just an isolated loony who was trying it on, but when I considered it later he seemed indignant, almost self-righteous, as if I was treating him unfairly.”

“So James was taking bribes from people who had appeared in court and wanted the fact kept secret?”

“Yes,” she said, and her eyes sparkled because he was listening to her so carefully and following her line of thought so well. “But that wasn’t all he was doing.”

She paused dramatically while he poured her more whisky, then, although he already knew what was coming, he waited, attentive for her next revelation.

“The odd twenty quid to keep a bank manager’s name out of the paper was only chicken feed,” she said. “That wouldn’t keep our Stella in designer frocks and fancy kitchens. So James got more ambitious and the racket with local businesses started.”

“When was that, Mary?” Ramsay asked, quiet and apologetic. “When did the local business racket first start?”

“Years ago,” she said. “Perhaps even before I started on the paper.”

“Tell me,” he said. “ How did it work?”

“Well,” she said, tantalising him, the perfect performer. “Of course I don’t know all the details …”

“But it’s your story, Mary. You know how it worked.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “ I know how it worked. James Laidlaw, the great investigative journalist, threatened to put people out of business if they didn’t pay him lots of money. That’s how it worked.”

“How could he do that, Mary? I need to know.”