‘McNab,’ he said gruffly.

‘Magnus here.’

As if he didn’t know, McNab thought. ‘Professor. What can I do for you?’

‘It’s about the body on the moors.’

‘What about it?’ McNab said, surprised.

‘There’s a guy, Alec McLaughlin, I interviewed him in Barlinnie.’ Magnus hesitated, as though he was considering giving more details about why he was visiting an inmate, then didn’t. ‘He says he knows something about it.’

20

The dress had an embroidered top and a full net skirt together with what had once been a stiffened petticoat. There was also a satin bow to be tied at the back. Although badly stained, the style and pattern were distinctive. If a missing child had disappeared wearing this dress, then surely there was a chance that remaining family members might be able to recognize it?

According to McNab, Mary McIntyre’s parents were dead, but her sister and brother, who had been teenagers at the time, were still alive. The horror of what Mary’s siblings had faced then, and now, wasn’t lost on Rhona, whether the body on the moor turned out to be their sister or not.

‘I wouldn’t want to be shown a picture of her dress looking like that,’ Chrissy said. ‘All they’ll think about is what happened when their sister was wearing it.’ She glanced at Rhona. ‘Okay, I know it’s maybe the wrong size for the body we dug up, but still . . .’

It was for the police to decide whether they showed Mary’s siblings a photograph of the dress as it was now, or alternatively an artist’s reconstruction of how it would have looked on the morning of Mary’s confirmation.

‘Anyway, what fourteen-year-old male would remember his wee sister’s outfit from forty-odd years ago? The big sister might, though,’ Chrissy added. ‘Can you remember your favourite dress when you were a kid?’

Rhona could and said so. ‘A pink gingham sundress when I was eleven. But I have a photo of me wearing it to remind me. I take it you remember your confirmation outfit?’

‘Too right I do. Innocent and virginal in a white dress and veil, we were the little brides of Christ,’ Chrissy said. ‘Anyway, that’s what they told us. Sounds a bit creepy now. I remember wondering what the boys were supposed to be in their wee suits and ties. Maybe the best man at the wedding?’ She made a face. ‘They don’t lay it on as thick nowadays. Just dress demurely, they tell you, preferably in white. But folk in Glasgow like to dress up. Demure is not for them.’

Rhona knew Chrissy was talking like this because the story behind the image was so disturbing. Plus to examine the dress properly would require it to be taken apart, bit by bit, so that they might test any area which appeared optimum for evidence-gathering. Just as the pathologists had done on the child’s body at the PM.

Laid out for closer examination, the full set of clothes was even more poignant than when Rhona had first removed them from the plastic bag at the graveside.