‘Karen blamed herself for her friend’s death,’ Rhona said. ‘No wonder she stopped talking.’

McNab nodded. ‘Thing is, I had a quick look at the diary. There’s not a lot in there, and most of it contradicts what Karen just told me.’

Rhona considered this. ‘Maybe she was writing what she wanted to be the truth back then, rather than what was the truth?’

‘So which story do I believe? The one I heard today or what’s in the diary?’

‘Can I read it?’ Rhona said.

‘I photographed the pages and sent copies to you and Pirie along with the recording I made of our conversation,’ McNab said. ‘McCreadie says he’s not read the diary, but I don’t buy that. He had twelve hours minimum when Karen Marshall was in his house, likely not compos mentis. He would have been desperate to know what was in that jotter. I would have, if I was in his shoes,’ he admitted.

‘I’ll take a look when I get home,’ Rhona promised. ‘Oh,’ she said, remembering. ‘We collected a saliva sample from the back of McLaughlin’s neck.’

Midway through taking a slug of his pint, McNab grued. ‘Not a good image to hold in my head.’

‘But it means we have a DNA sample for whoever was breathing down his neck,’ Rhona said, thinking if anyone uninitiated was listening into their conversation, it wasn’t a pretty picture they were painting. She recalled once before, sitting enthusiastically discussing blood splattering in a pub with Chrissy, only to realize those sitting around them were making moves to get away.

‘There was one thing in the diary, though.’ McNab returned to their previous subject. ‘It sounded like Karen was also being creeped out by some bloke.’

‘Did she give a name?’

McNab shook his head. ‘She mentioned a bloke hanging about the local shops, exposing himself. But there was also a reference to someone closer to home, I think.’

The conversation ended there with a surprise arrival. Rhona saw Ellie first. She was headed towards them, with a look on her face that suggested trouble.

Rhona called a welcome, to warn McNab of his girlfriend’s imminent arrival and hopefully soften whatever she had in mind.

‘Ellie?’ McNab turned in surprise. ‘Hey, you did get my message?’

‘Which one?’ Ellie smiled sweetly, although there was a cold steel in her eyes.

Rhona made her excuses and, silently wishing McNab luck, absented herself from what looked like the impending fray.

57

The heavy rain of the previous night had thankfully cleared and spring returned, making Rhona’s walk to work through the park something to be enjoyed, and not endured.

On her way home after the pub the previous evening, she’d picked up a microwave meal and, reheating it, had then settled down to read the diary. It hadn’t taken long to see what McNab had meant regarding fact and fiction.

The diary had read like her own made-up stories as a child, where she had starred in numerous imagined mysteries along the lines of The Famous Five. Despite this, Rhona had still had a strong sense of reality in some of the diary’s detail, like the skipping song and the fear and loss when Mary did not return.