“The sheriff’s been murdered, Margo. He was killed last night on the estate. This isn’t only about righting wrongs, seeing that every child who suffered at the orphanage is given the right to see their abusers punished. It’s also about preventing any more murders. One of you either knows or suspects who the murderer is, or has information that will enable us to catch him. No matter what happened to you, and I know nothing can ever make that right, nobody can take the law into their own hands. Will you help me?”

“They had it coming.” A dishevelled character spoke up, the source of a sour aroma that permeated the room. He had the unhealthy pallor that Corstorphine associated with a lifetime of dissolution, a single-minded dedication to the use of drugs and alcohol to erase a life no longer worth living. It didn’t take a detective to work out this must be the homeless guy, George Winter.

“That’s as may be, but now’s your chance to take whoever was involved to court, see justice be done.” Corstorphine could see he was failing to inspire the three of them who still stood there, viewing him with distrust, looking at the exit and wondering if they should just leave him to it.

“And there is the matter of the compensation you’d be due if we follow this through.” He’d played his trump card. He watched the calculations begin in their eyes and knew he’d got them.

“Margo, shall we start with you? Hamish, can you make Mr Craig Derbyshire and Mr George Winter as comfortable as possible and we’ll have them in as soon as we can. Frankie, in with me, please.”

As Hamish led the other two down the stairs, Corstorphine indicated the interview room to Margo. Against her instincts she entered the room, wondering how much she could make out of this – enough to set her up for life?

“I’ll have to record this conversation, Margo, and read you your rights. Just tell me the truth. If you lie, then it gives the defence the perfect opportunity to destroy any case we bring. Do you understand?”

She nodded and sat with hands folded across her womb. This is for you, little one, this is for you.

Margo ran through everything she’d already told the Courier, adding details where Corstorphine pressed for more information. She confirmed that Oscar had beaten up the victim that drunken evening and not Simon Battle.

“Where was the reporter’s notebook, Margo? Where exactly did you find it?”

“I found it in the locked equipment store. It was the only place Oscar kept locked up. I wouldn’t have even looked for it but the laird was sniffing about. He knew Oscar had it, at least I think he knew he had something. Oscar always had some kind of hold over him. It wasn’t the usual laird-gamekeeper relationship.” She laughed mirthlessly.