“Before we start, Margo, do you need to see a doctor? I can see someone has knocked you about.” Corstorphine had seen her wince as she lowered herself onto the hard chair, and the hand she had clasped to her side before crossing her arms protectively across her chest.

“I’m fine.” Her response was sharp.

“Alright.” He sighed, tired of always being seen as the enemy in these scenarios. “I want you to go over everything that happened before you saw Oscar this morning. Try and remember every detail, even things that seem unimportant, like changes in his routine. Did he appear unduly worried? Anything that you can tell us may help.”

Margo sucked in short shallow breaths to avoid the pain in her ribs and watched the police through narrowed eyes. They didn’t think she’d done that to him? Left him hanging in a wire noose, just another wild animal – she wished she had. If only she had the strength of will to fight back. If only… she smiled, that tired old mantra again.

“We had a fight two days ago. I told him I was expecting.”

Frankie’s eyes widened as she instinctively focussed on Margo’s stomach, seeking confirmation of the first tell-tale bulge. Corstorphine just nodded encouragement for her to continue.

“Oscar wasn’t impressed. He let me know he didn’t want a child. Tried his damn best to get rid of it there and then!” She spat the last words out. “He was never that good with words, preferred using his hands.” She laughed mirthlessly at her own joke, missing the quick glance that the detectives exchanged.

“And then?” Frankie prompted.

“He left the house yesterday morning, just after six, as usual. Oscar liked to be up early in case any animals were stupid enough to still be on the hills. I lay in bed for a while, then did a wash. The sheets were bloody.”

“What did you do after that?” Corstorphine asked. “Did anyone come to the house, or did you see any hikers on the path? Anyone that can substantiate your story?”

“Well, it’s like a bloody motorway some days. I had thought about opening a café, maybe selling some home-made cakes. You know, make some money on the side to pay for foreign holidays.” The sarcasm met with a stony response. She breathed deeply, and then wished she hadn’t as a lancing pain stabbed her in the side. Margo shifted position on the chair in an effort to get more comfortable. “No, nobody comes up the glen. There’s fuck all reason to do so. It goes nowhere, there’s no big hills to climb, no fish in the burn and no trees to cut down.” She paused her diatribe for a second. “Except the one.”

“So, what did you do the rest of the day?” Frankie again, searching for details that might help colour in the outline she’d given them.

“Made the fucking bed with clean sheets, cleaned the kitchen floor where I’d bled all over it and prepared Oscar’s meal for him. The rest of the time I just looked out of the window and wished I could run away.” She blinked away the tears that were starting to form, angry to display any sign of weakness in front of these two. She hurriedly carried on. “When Oscar was late for his dinner, I thought he’d be down the pub.” Her eyes met theirs, the anguish in her gaze catching them both unawares. “Then I was worried. I can just about manage him normal, like, but when he’s drunk... You’ve no idea what he’s like. He wanted the baby gone, I knew that.” She could feel the memory of the knife in her hand as she’d lain there, nerves stretched so tight she was unable to sleep. “When he hadn’t come back this morning, I took my chance, packed my bag and left. I thought he’d see me on the track, and I couldn’t run because of the pain in my ribs. Then I saw him, hanging from that tree. I couldn’t work out what it was at first, then I saw it was Oscar.”