“Margo. Margo McDonald. She was always there, hanging onto Oscar like she couldn’t bear to leave him. Craig Derbyshire – he works as a sparky for Highlands Power. George Winter, Georgie Porgie we called him. He sleeps behind the cinema most nights, under cardboard. Begs on the streets – you’ve probably seen him.”

“Is that all?” Corstorphine queried. “They’re the only people that witnessed the attack?”

“They’re the only ones left.”

Corstorphine sighed. “They’ll have to do. If you’re telling the truth, then we can at least put one wrong right.”

He looked William straight in the eyes. This was the part of the interview he really didn’t want to hear. “Tell us about the abuse, William, in your own words. Take your time but try and include as much detail as you can. People, places, dates. I want to know everything you can tell us about what happened to you and the other children.”

William bowed his head, but not before Frankie saw the first tears trickle down his face. He spoke in an emotionless monotone, a story too horrific, a childhood betrayed. Corstorphine and Frankie listened in anguish, only stopping to ask him to repeat a word lost in his sobs. At the end of an hour they let him go, drained of a burden he’d carried for too long. He had provided them with Lord Lagan’s name, told them how the lord enjoyed putting all his weight on their small bodies until they could no longer breathe, how some of them were never seen again. The anger in Corstorphine’s breast raged white-hot. He would use that anger, focus it where it could do the most good.

“Frankie, take Bill McAdam and track down Margo, Craig Derbyshire and George Winter. Stick them in the holding cells for the time being. Tell them they’re witnesses for a major enquiry and it’s for their own protection. Which may not be that far from the truth. I’m going to question Brian. Ask Hamish to bring him into the interview room. He’s got some explaining to do.”

XXVII FRIDAY 9:07

XXVII
FRIDAY 9:07

Brian Rankin entered the interview room in a rage, pushing the duty sergeant’s arm away as he attempted to guide him in. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Corstorphine? Have you lost your mind?”

Something in Corstorphine’s expression took the wind out of his sails, the bluster replaced with doubt. “Just sit, Brian. Hamish – you stay here with me.”

“Sir.” The sergeant sat beside Corstorphine, wishing he was anywhere else other than facing his ex-boss in an interview room.

“Interview commencing Friday 23rd May at 9:07 a.m. Present, Detective Inspector James Corstorphine, Sergeant Hamish McKee and retired Detective Inspector Brian Rankin.” Corstorphine read out his rights and stared directly at the old DI.