Corstorphine checked his watch: 14:14. Plenty of time to see Margo and then get John Ackerman in for questioning.

“I’ll pay a visit to Margo now. When you and PC Lamb are done here, I want you to bring John Ackerman in. I’d like to see him explain what he was doing in the laird’s house after he’d been in to see us on Monday.”

“That’s something else I meant to tell you, sir. The clockmaker managed to put together the bits of clockwork we found at the tree. I’ve left it in the office. He can’t be sure without having the original mechanism, but he’s of the opinion it would have been set around a week before activating the snare.”

“Leaving Ackerman without an alibi. Good work, Frankie. I’ll see you back at the station, Can you make 16:00?”

“Yes, sir, this shouldn’t take long, and we can do the fingerprint match at the station.”

Corstorphine left them working the scene and headed back along the metalled road to the fork then followed the rougher track down to the gamekeeper’s cottage. He noticed the quad bike was still lying on its side in the burn, just before he passed the Hanging Tree still adorned with tattered strips of police tape. Margo came out of the cottage as he approached, closing the door behind her in a clear demonstration that he wasn’t likely to be invited in for tea or coffee.

“Hello, Margo, how are you keeping?”

“Fine. What do you want?” Her response was brusque.

“Have you seen the laird recently?”

“That slimeball. No, thank God. He was creeping around here Monday afternoon but I haven’t seen sight of him since.” Corstorphine could see that she was intrigued rather than attempting to hide anything.

“What time was he here?”

Margo shrugged dismissively. “No idea. I was in town when he came around. I left the door unlocked for him. Sometime in the afternoon.” She saw Corstorphine’s questioning look. “He’s convinced there was some book of grouse numbers that Oscar used to keep. Sounds like a load of rubbish to me, Oscar never kept note of anything. He wanted to look for it.”

“You’ve been to the Courier recently.”

Margo shifted uncomfortably on her feet, looking around her. “So what?”

“Where did June Stevens’ reporter’s notebook come from?” Corstorphine asked the question quietly, watching her like a hawk.

Margo’s eyes darted about in search of inspiration and finding none, she decided on the truth.

“I found it in the shed.” She nodded in the direction of the locked shed. “Thought the Courier might want it, as it belongs to them really.” She looked pleased with herself for offering a justification.

‘Why do you think it was in the shed? A notebook belonging to a young woman who was found dead, hanging in the tree?”