Back in the seventies, the lack of a body usually meant no one would be charged. Now things were different and there had been convictions for murder despite the victim’s remains never being discovered. Plus the advances in forensics were bringing killers to justice in spite of past failures.

McNab sat in silence for a minute, watching as McIntyre regained his composure. ‘So, what did you do after your teenage brushes with the law?’

‘I went to night school, encouraged by DI McCreadie. Got my Highers and went to college to study accountancy. Now I’m a financial adviser.’

McNab tried to prevent his eyebrows from rising, and not just because it sounded a better and more lucrative career path than the one he’d chosen.

‘Are you in touch with your sister?’

‘Not so much. Me and her husband don’t tend to hit it off, but I see her kids sometimes, especially now they’re in Glasgow.’ He gave McNab a studied look. ‘But you probably know all this already.’

McNab didn’t comment one way or the other. ‘What did you want to tell me, apart from us having fucked up?’ he said instead.

‘McCreadie was close to finding out what had happened to Mary. That’s why the men at the top got rid of him.’

‘That I don’t buy,’ McNab said firmly. He had his own gripes with the police force, and corruption was always an undercurrent, just like in any other profession, but that sounded like McCreadie’s words put into McIntyre’s mouth.

‘I’ve done my homework too, Detective Sergeant McNab. I know your history in the police force. You’ve sailed close to the wind a few times. The Stonewarrior case for one. The powers that be didn’t take that very well, even though you solved the case.’

True enough. And it still rankled.

‘Plus,’ McIntyre met his eye, ‘DI McCreadie recommended you.’

‘Former DI McCreadie. He hasn’t been an officer for a very long time,’ he reminded McIntyre.

McNab recalled McCreadie’s manner. He hadn’t taken to the man. Maybe it was because he’d used his police background to write fictional accounts of the job. Or, as Janice had suggested, ‘You don’t like him because he’s just like you.’ When McNab had retorted, ‘I deal in facts,’ Janice had merely raised an eyebrow.

‘So,’ McNab went on, ‘you and McCreadie have a theory and, I assume, not one in which you present as a suspect?’

‘You think I would kill my own sister?’ McIntyre looked genuinely astonished.

‘It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened. Happy families are rarely happy.’

‘I never said we were a happy family, but we were as happy as anyone else on that street.’ McIntyre had regained his composure. ‘You’ve read McCreadie’s notebooks?’

McNab had only looked at the first one as yet, but didn’t confirm this. Instead, he said, ‘Why don’t you tell me why you wanted to speak to me?’

‘The priest’s still alive. That’s where you should go first. Father Joseph Feeney.’