“Big Tam was Sean Connery.” Tommy laughed. “Big star. And we shared the same hostel! He came back to Scotland for the opening of the Scottish Parliament. First time a parliament had sat in Edinburgh for nearly three hundred years. I went along, too. Historical moment, eh? Not to be missed. Anyway, I see Sean as he’s going in. And I wave at him from the crowd and shout, ‘How are you doing, Big Tam?’” Tommy smiled. “He didn’t recognize me, of course.”

Fin leaned forward. “Was The Dean a Catholic home, Tommy?”

Tommy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Christ, no! That Mr. Anderson hated Catholics. Hated everything and everyone, come to think of it.”

Marsaili said, “Were there ever any Catholics in the home?”

“Oh, aye, but they never stayed. The priests would come and fetch them and take them away to some Catholic place. There was three of them once, I remember, got whipped off double quick after a boy died on the bridge.”

“What bridge was that?” Fin asked, his interest suddenly piqued.

“The Dean Bridge. Crosses the Water of Leith just above the Dean Village. Must be a hundred-foot drop.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, nobody knew for sure. There was lots of gossip and speculation, of course. Some bet, or dare, about walking across the ledge on the outside of the parapet. Something like that. Anyway, some of The Dean kids were involved. Sneaked out one night, and a village boy fell to his death. Two days later those three Catholic kids were gone. Taken away in a big black car by all accounts.”

Fin felt a stillness in his heart, that sense of being close enough to the truth to touch it. “Do you remember their names?”

“Oh,” Tommy shook his head. “It was a long time ago, Mr. Macleod. There was a lassie. Cathy, or Catherine, I think it was. And two brothers. One of them could have been John. Maybe Johnny.” He paused, searching back in his mind. “I do remember quite clearly the name of the boy who died, though. Patrick Kelly. Everyone knew the Kelly boys, of course. They lived in the Dean Village, and their dad was involved in some kind of criminal gang. Been to prison, they said. The boys were right tough nuts. You stayed out of their way if you could.” He tilted his head in a moment of lost reflection. “A bunch of them came up to the Dean a few days later looking for the daftie.”

Marsaili frowned. “The daftie?”

“Aye, the brother. What was his name . . . ?” Recollection broke suddenly in his eyes, like dawn light. “Peter! That was it. Johnny’s brother. Nice laddie, but not quite right in the head.”