“I can’t answer for the DI who’s leading the investigation, apart from saying – strictly off the record – that DI Corstorphine has expressed a desire to look into June Stevens’ apparent suicide.”

Josephine nodded slowly, the word apparent was all she needed to know. “Then you will be able to requisition June’s notebook as part of your investigation.”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? Us to reopen the June Stevens case?”

“This was before my time, well before my time, Frankie. But my editor never believed she committed suicide. He also doesn’t believe her daughter ran away from that orphanage.”

Frankie’s interest was piqued. “What does he believe happened?”

A smoker’s voice answered from the open doorway. “I believe she was murdered and Oscar was the murderer.”

Frankie spun round, startled by the man’s voice. A short, bespectacled man who didn’t look as if he’d ever seen the inside of a gym stood in the open doorway. He extended a hand which Frankie shook lightly. It was like holding onto a wet sponge.

“I’m Jack Hammond, editor of the Courier. Twenty years ago, I was the junior reporter here and worked alongside June. She was not suicidal, I can tell you that. She had a daughter she doted on and a lot to live for.”

“I’m Frankie...”

“I know who you are, DC McKenzie. I know all about every member of our local police station. It’s my job. Your job is to bring this out into the open so we can report it.”

“I’m sorry, what is it you want brought out?”

The editor wheezed with exasperation. “The orphanage stayed under the radar all the time it was here, but there are people who knew what went on behind the walls and did nothing about it.” He held June’s notebook up in the air, waving it to emphasise his words. “June was onto them. She’d talked to a few of the children and they opened up to her, told her things she didn’t enjoy hearing. The nuns of Holy Mercy were involved, of course. Children were regularly given the strap for bed-wetting, locked in cold stone cells without food or warmth for minor transgressions. Then one of the children told June he was being sexually abused, described what was being done to him in such graphic detail that it had to be the truth.”

“Did she tell you this?” Frankie asked, her notebook and pen completely forgotten. “Why didn’t the nuns report it?”

He grimaced. “The nuns were complicit in it. Any children reporting such things were beaten so hard they didn’t dare mention it again.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an inhaler, taking a deep breath before replacing it. His breathing became less ragged as he concentrated on breathing evenly, the rattle in his throat abating.