“Good point. There must be people living here who have concealed the abuse, either too ashamed or embarrassed to bring it into the open.”

“There was that one call I had, sir, following the Courier’s article about the orphanage on Wednesday, from someone who claimed he’d been abused at the orphanage. He rung off before giving a name, and the number was withheld.”

“That’s probably the only good that’s ever going to come out of that bloody paper. Once these things are out in the open it encourages people to tell their own stories.”

“Catharsis, sir.”

“Aye. Lancing a big ugly boil that’s festered on this town’s backside without anyone noticing. Well, they’re bloody noticing now.”

They entered the outskirts of the town, yellow sodium lamps surrounded by halos of mist as the evening air chilled.

“Tomorrow’s going to be busy,” said Corstorphine. “I want that butcher brought in for questioning, first thing. Arrest him if you have to.”

“What charge, sir?” Frankie was genuinely interested.

“Resisting arrest.”

Frankie’s laugh broke the tension.

“Hamish can bring in Brian, he can wait in one of the cells until we’re ready for him.”

“He won’t thank you for that!”

“If he’s been covering up for that orphanage, being put in a cell might concentrate his mind,” Corstorphine responded. “Then we’d better have a chat with the Courier – they’ve been too much in the driving seat throughout this process.”

“Do you think we’ll get anything from forensics?”

Corstorphine shook his head. “Whoever it is, they know enough to keep each scene sterile. I don’t hold out much hope. What we need is some background on our French reporter, just in case she’s linked to this clockmaker in Toulouse.”

“What about our man in Barlinnie?”

“We don’t have time to see him. The best we can try for is a telephone interview.”

The Land Rover pulled into the station car park.

“Go home, Frankie. There’s no point in us working on tonight and we need to be fresh for tomorrow.” He climbed into his own car, watching as Frankie drove off. This could end well or end badly. Corstorphine already knew which outcome he’d choose to bet on. His wife looked at him in despair. “James, have some faith in yourself, man. You’re a better detective than all those idiots at HQ and you know it…”

“Aye.” Corstorphine started his car, heading down roads he knew so well he could drive them with his eyes closed. “Well, we’ll see soon enough.”