The next call McNab made surprised even him.

‘Sergeant McNab, have you found her?’ McCreadie’s voice sounded worried.

‘We believe Karen’s on her way back to Stirling,’ McNab told him.

‘Thank God she’s okay.’

‘Eric Jackson’s with her in the car,’ McNab said, wanting to gauge McCreadie’s reaction to that piece of news.

There was a heavy silence, then McCreadie came back on. ‘You want to know how I feel about that?’

‘I do.’

‘There was nothing back then to suggest Eric Jackson had anything to do with Mary McIntyre’s disappearance.’

‘How closely did you look at him?’

‘He was away when it happened. He was older than Eleanor. Had his driving licence and worked as a driver for a delivery firm. We checked and he was definitely on the road. Somewhere in the Borders, I believe.’

‘So he wasn’t a suspect?’

‘There was no evidence to suggest he should be,’ McCreadie said sharply. ‘If we’d had DNA testing back then, we’d have swabbed every male in the vicinity. Him included. But we didn’t.’

‘There’ll be someone at the cottage awaiting Karen’s arrival. However, there’s always the chance that she might come back to you instead,’ McNab said. ‘We intend arresting Eric Jackson. I’d be obliged if you could delay him, if they do come there.’

McNab put up the blue light, knowing however fast he drove, he wouldn’t be there before Karen.

65

I told Jack to shift to the back seat, but he wasn’t happy about it. I explained that Eric was going to drive and I needed to be beside him to show him the way, and that seemed to placate Jack for the moment.

Eric said nothing when I appeared to speak to a dead man. In fact he seemed quite amused by it. I suspect he thought that the police would never take the word of a woman who was so obviously doolally. Especially anything she said about what had happened forty-five years ago.

After getting Jack to stop complaining, I relaxed. It was obvious that Eric wasn’t afraid of me. I wasn’t afraid of him either. Not any more.

I sneaked a sideways look at him, noting the big hairy hands on the wheel. The side of his jaw, the still-thick blond hair, cut in a stylish way. He looked younger than Eleanor now, although it was the other way round really.

I still had a clear picture of him back then. He’d just had a haircut and there’d been bits of hair on his collar. And that smile, like he knew he could and would have anything he wanted.

I realized he was contemplating asking me something. Just to check if I was really losing my marbles, I suppose.

How would I answer if he did?

I could hear him thinking. His thoughts were mainly about how he would dispose of me. Or if he really had to. If I was muddled and mad, nothing I said about Mary’s death could be used in a court of law. And they didn’t have anything else linking him to her murder. He’d been careful about that. Or thought he had.