Her head tilted to one side as she relived the moment, unconsciously mimicking his stance as he swung bloodily from the wire. “I was happy,” she stated simply. “He couldn’t hurt me any more. Then I thought whoever did it might still be around and I had to run, even though it hurt my ribs. You know the rest.”
Corstorphine regarded her steadily, the eyebrow refusing to lift. Insofar as anyone told the truth, this was as close as it got. “Who’d want to do this to him, Margo?”
She laughed, the sound short and sharp like a fox’s cough. “Who wouldn’t?”
Frankie asked her again. “Seriously, Margo, if you know anyone who may have done this, we need to know.”
Margo considered. If she gave them a name they’d let her go, otherwise she could be held here for bloody hours.
“There’s a gamey Oscar set up some months ago. Left a dead eagle on his beat. He’s up before the court in Inverness some time this week. Oscar said he’d know who did it, found it funny.”
“Do you have a name?” Corstorphine queried. Frankie’s pen hovered over her notebook.
“John Ackerman. His patch isn’t that far from Inverness. Everyone knows it’s a setup. You don’t shit in your own bed.”
Frankie closed her notebook. “This interview is terminated at eighteen-forty.” She switched off the recorder, whilst Margo looked at them quizzically.
“You’re free to go, Margo. Get yourself checked out at the hospital – do you want us to run you there?” Corstorphine’s offer was met with a hostile stare.
“Think I want to be seen in a police car? No thanks. I’ll make my own way.”
“Where will you be staying, Margo? In case we need to get back in touch.” Frankie queried as she held the door open.
Margo stared blankly into some middle distance. She’d set out this morning without any destination in mind, save anywhere away from Oscar. Now there was only one place she could go. “Back home.”
“Before you go…”
Margo turned to see Corstorphine holding out a set of keys. “From the quad bike,” he explained. She took them in silence and left the interview room. Frankie escorted her to the front desk where Hamish handed over her travel bag. They stood watching as she retrieved a purse, making a show of counting her money out in front of them before abruptly leaving.
IV
SATURDAY 19:11
Corstorphine left Frankie at the station in the act of pinning a red thread between Oscar’s photograph and a yellow post-it inscribed with John Ackerman’s name. As crazy walls went, this one was looking particularly sparse and he had little confidence that their first suspect would prove to be the killer. Frankie had put Margo’s name up on the board, but Corstorphine had a feeling that line of enquiry was a non-starter. Whoever had set the snare for Oscar had planned his death carefully, more like a military operation than the desperate act of a newly-pregnant woman. The forensics report would come later, once the SOC unit had made the round trip from Inverness and finished investigating the scene of crime – a tree, that would be a first for them.