McNab had been involved with many lost-and-found scenarios. When a young woman disappeared on a night out, you just knew the likelihood was she was lying dead somewhere. With elderly mispers, they were usually suffering from dementia and had just wandered off. But, thankfully, they were highly noticeable, so usually safely retrieved, only to wander off again at some later date.

Karen, as far as he was aware, wasn’t suffering from dementia, but had been looking after someone who was, and this had clearly taken its toll.

As he re-entered the kitchen, a thought occurred. He’d seen two small skylights on the roof, which indicated a loft. He checked with one of the SOCOs.

‘Has anyone been in the loft?’

She nodded an affirmative. ‘All clear.’

‘So how’d they get up?’

‘There’s a pull-down ladder in the cupboard in the back corridor,’ she told him.

Feeling foolish that he hadn’t checked the cupboard, McNab went back for a look. The ladder was still down, so he climbed up to emerge into a low-ceilinged, floored loft.

McNab didn’t have a loft himself, but he knew if he did, it would bear no resemblance to this one, which was neater than his living room. Shafts of sunlight from the two windows lit the carefully stacked boxes with labels attached. Checking a couple of these, he realized the loft space was split in two. On one side, the labels were inscribed with a description of contents and Karen’s name. The other, Jack’s.

He made his way across to Karen’s side where a box marked KAREN MISCELLANEOUS, and dated five years after Mary’s disappearance, lay open, with some of its contents, mainly books, scattered outside.

Magnus had said Karen had found her old diary and been reading it again. So maybe that’s what she’d come up here for?

If he’d hoped to find it back in the box, McNab was to be disappointed. It looked like Karen, whether she’d left Rowan Cottage under her own free will or otherwise, had taken the diary with her.

Exiting the cottage, McNab hailed the CSM.

‘We’ll need the mobile ASAP,’ McNab told him. ‘Plus we’re looking for an old diary of Karen’s, which could be somewhere in the house, or maybe the car. So if you find it . . .’

‘We’ll let you know immediately,’ DS Jones said.

‘Any sign of her handbag, purse, et cetera?’

DS Jones confirmed that none had been found.

As McNab retreated to his own vehicle, his mobile rang. This time the screen revealed the caller’s name, although it wasn’t someone he particularly wanted to talk to.

‘It’s Jimmy McCreadie. I hear you’re in Stirling and not too far from me?’

McNab wondered how he knew that, then admonished himself. Smart McCreadie would have his local contacts, especially in the world of crime detection. After all, he had to keep up to speed on research for his books.

When McNab admitted he was right, McCreadie said, ‘If you have time, I’d like to speak to you about Karen Marshall, or Karen Johnston as she was known here.’