As far as McNab was concerned, McCreadie’s almost illegible scrawl seemed to flow like choppy waves across the page. As soon as he began to try to interpret the words, the remainder of the line started to dance before his eyes. It looked to McNab’s eye more like music than writing.

After five minutes or so, he announced, ‘This’ll take too long when I have other things I should be doing. We’ll get them transcribed. Then we can see what J. D. Smart has to say.’

Decided, McNab rose. Janice, on the other hand, didn’t take her eyes off the page.

McNab, suddenly finding a need to further justify his change of plan, announced, ‘I’m off to talk to Dr MacLeod about a possible return visit to the locus.’

At this, Janice did glance up. ‘So you are taking the girl there?’

‘It’s what the boss wants.’ McNab attempted an expression suggesting that was the only reason it would happen.

‘Okay,’ Janice said. ‘I’ll get someone to help transcribe these.’

She looked for a moment as if she would say something further, then chose not to.

McNab, relieved to be away from the notebooks and their illegible scrawl, made for the coffee machine, from where he called Rhona.

‘You just caught me. Chrissy and I are finishing for the day.’

‘Where are you headed?’ McNab said.

‘Usual place. Why?’

‘We need to talk about something before the strategy meeting.’

‘Okay,’ Rhona said. ‘D’you want to give me a heads-up on what that might be?’

‘I’ll tell you when I see you,’ McNab said, and rang off.

He was aware that Emma’s intervention would intrigue Rhona. After all, she and Magnus had been the ones to give credence to Emma’s fanciful ideas back then, whereas he’d dismissed them out of hand. He suspected Rhona would be supportive of the child’s request, while he would love for it never to have happened.

McNab checked his watch. He was due to go off shift shortly, as was Janice, so he wasn’t actually skiving. And he did need to talk to Rhona. Even as he convinced himself of this, he acknowledged that Janice was unlikely to stop working just because her shift was over.

By the look on her face when he’d left, studying McCreadie’s diaries was akin to reading Smart’s detective novels. If she did go home, the likelihood was she would take them with her for her bedtime reading.

McNab shuddered at the thought.

His own view was that his time would be better spent interviewing everyone left alive, especially those listed as suspects by McCreadie when he was a cop, rather than a storyteller.

McNab drank his shot of coffee, sure now of his plan for the evening. Even as the certainty presented itself, his mobile buzzed in his pocket.

Hoping it might be Ellie, he checked the screen to find Pirie’s number there. The ‘decline’ button attracted his finger, but he found himself pressing ‘accept’ instead.

‘DS McNab,’ he said formally.