She recalled again that terrible room with the body of the seventeen-year-old boy, mutilated and abused. The horrifying thought that the victim might turn out to be her own son. It was that discovery that had set her on the path to finding Liam.

A missing child, a murdered child, like Mary, became like one of your own, at least until you found their killer.

McCreadie had never had that release, coupled with the fact that he hadn’t been permitted to continue to pursue the case. How difficult that must have been for him. No wonder he had never forgotten it.

As she continued to read McCreadie’s account of the disappearance of Mary McIntyre, a notification arrived indicating a result was back on a DNA test she’d submitted. Opening it, Rhona saw another bit of the jigsaw puzzle snap into place. The dress, despite being small in size, had also been worn by Mary McIntyre.

So, two girls had worn that dress, or been made to put it on.

The question now was, who was the other girl, and was she still alive?

39

Marge, now they knew Karen’s address, seemed puzzled when Magnus urged her to wait before rushing round there.

‘Why? We need to check she’s all right. I know what state she was in when she left here, Professor, and with respect, you don’t.’ The strength of Marge’s feelings was obvious on her face and in her stance.

‘We have to inform the police first,’ Magnus said.

‘But they can’t get there before us.’ Seeing Magnus perhaps wavering, she added, ‘Can we call them when we get there?’

Magnus considered this suggestion and found it sat well with his conscience. He would call McNab once they were sure they were at the right house.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘My car’s parked back at the Community Campus.’

‘Right.’ Marge had already donned her jacket. ‘I just need to lock up and we’re off.’

‘Has anyone tried calling Karen in the last hour?’ Magnus said as they walked swiftly in the direction of the car.

‘Beth tried her mobile number again as soon as they found the address. It went to voicemail.’ As they reached the car, she added, her voice grim, ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been too late to help someone, Professor. I don’t want that to happen again.’

The daylight was beginning to fade as they made their way back to the roundabout from where Magnus had admired his view of the castle. He’d already programmed in the postcode Marge’s friend Beth had sent them, and a female voice was telling them where to go.

The voice directed them to a turn-off from the main road which took them towards what looked like a row of farm cottages.

‘She did say she had a view of the castle,’ Marge told Magnus, ‘but then who doesn’t round here? Oh, and they had a dog that Jack walked round Castle Hill, which is right there.’ She pointed across the road.