“That’s what I was told, sir. Without getting our hands on the book we have to go with what the Courier tells us.”

“OK. Let’s assume for the moment they’re telling us the truth. Then where are the names of the children? Why are we having so much trouble tracking down any of the orphans who were at the orphanage?”

“Maybe Margo has some of that information, sir. She could be drip feeding it to the paper for money?”

“That’s entirely possible. I think we’re going to have to have another chat with Margo. She wasn’t particularly forthcoming when I went to see her.” He checked his watch. “They’ve had their ten minutes. At least we can charge John Ackerman for breaking and entering. When the laird reappears, we can find what’s missing – add burglary to his charge sheet.” They walked back to the interview room together. “I’m going to have to open a line of enquiry into June Stevens’ suicide; it’s the only way I can requisition that notebook.” Corstorphine didn’t sound overjoyed at the prospect.

He formally charged the gamekeeper, accepting the solicitor’s plea that he be allowed out pending trial. As far as Corstorphine was concerned, John Ackerman was just a distraction. Somewhere out there was a killer who’d already struck twice and he didn’t want any more murders on his patch.

“See if you can track down any more of the orphanage children, they must be out there somewhere.” Another thought finally crystallised in his mind, “And get in touch with that local company that undertakes geological surveys. I want the old orphanage garden scanned with ground penetrating radar in case that’s where all of our missing children ended up.”

Corstorphine left Frankie working at her desk, frustrated at the lack of any solid leads in the case. He was also concerned that the ACC would be down on him like a ton of bricks as soon as he heard the reporter’s suicide was being reopened. Couldn’t be helped. Her death was the key to the murderer, he was sure of it. The Courier believed that Oscar had murdered her twenty years ago, something he attached a high probability to – especially since Oscar had possession of her notebook. What made it more likely that Oscar had murdered her, in his view, was the amateur way the scene had been left to make it look like a suicide; a scene that the old DI couldn’t possibly have been taken in by. Which left him with the inescapable conclusion that Brian had been ‘got at’.

His mobile interrupted his train of thought, the number not one he recognised.

“Corstorphine,” he announced. There was the slightest delay on the other end before a woman’s voice replied.

“Hello, James, it’s Jenny. I was wondering if you were free for a drink later on tonight?”