His house was the only one in the street without any welcoming lights at the windows. He sat for a while in the drive, loathe to enter a house that reminded him of loss. The building stood, in his mind, as a monument to what might have been – and every time he returned home the absence of warmth, light, laughter only served to turn the knife in his soul.

“I really ought to move, get somewhere smaller.” He spoke the words to himself, yet he was letting his wife know that he had to move on. With the words spoken, Corstorphine turned the key in the lock, switched on the lights and TV, dialled up the heat at the thermostat and pulled the first frozen meal his hands encountered from the freezer. Tomorrow he had three murders to deal with, and still no real suspects in the frame.

XXVI FRIDAY 07:43

XXVI
FRIDAY 07:43

“Thank you for coming in, Mr Booth.” Corstorphine addressed the burly ginger-haired man facing him in the interview room, “or would you prefer if I called you William?”

The sullen stare that William wore made it clear he had better things to do that morning than decide on how he should be addressed by the detective opposite. “Listen, I’ve got a business to run. Tell me what I’m here for and let’s get this over as quickly as possible. Friday’s one of my busiest days!”

“Fine.” Corstorphine nodded towards Frankie, who set the recorder running and informed William that his statement was being recorded. His countenance turned from sullen to worried in a split second.

“Why are you recording me? What do you think I’ve done?” His face turned a mottled red, either rage or guilt, Corstorphine reckoned.

Frankie placed a bone gear onto the table top, the largest one that had been found intact in the Hanging Tree. The one identified as a cow scapula. It lay in mute reproach, cow accusing butcher.

“What’s that?” William’s eyes narrowed as he focussed on the bone.

“DC McKenzie has just placed Exhibit 12 in front of the witness.” Corstorphine provided the voiceover. “We were hoping you may be able to tell us.”

“Can I touch it?”

“Go ahead, it’s been checked for prints and DNA.” Corstorphine omitted to add that nothing had been found. There was no point in making any potential suspect feel comfortable.

The butcher picked up the cog, turning it this way and that as he inspected it under the overhead fluorescents. “Takes some skill to carve a bone like this,” he commented.

“You’ve carved bones, William?” Frankie asked.

William laughed. “I’m a butcher, Frankie. The only carving I do is with a meat cleaver, but I know enough about bones splintering to tell you this wouldn’t have been easy to carve. Must have used a lathe or something to get teeth that precise.” He placed it back down on the table, looking at them defiantly.