He grimaced. “Can’t blame her for that. Let’s get Craig in for a chat.”

Once again, they sat in the interview room, Frankie accompanying him this time.

“Craig, thanks for your time. I’ll try and make this as brief as I can. You were at the orphanage at the same time as George Winter?”

“He was a lot older than me. I was only ten when I went there, same time as that journalist’s daughter. George must have been thirteen or fourteen.”

Corstorphine and Frankie exchanged a glance. This was the first time anyone had mentioned the girl. “What can you tell me about her? What was her name?”

“Abigail Stevens. She must have been five, something like that. I didn’t see much of her. They kept the young ones in a separate part of the building.”

“What happened to her?” Frankie asked.

“I don’t know. As I say, didn’t really see much of her. I know she spent a lot of time in the hole.”

“What’s that? The hole?” Frankie pressed.

“It was a room with small windows, no heat or anything. Nothing in there but the stone walls and floor. If you didn’t do what the nuns told you then you were put in there without anything to eat or drink. Solitary confinement I think you’d call it now.”

Frankie exchanged a significant look with Corstorphine before asking him to continue.

“I often saw her with that detective who was in here earlier. He was the one who brought her in. I was out playing in the yard when he turned up in the police car with her in the back. I only noticed her because she was screaming, trying to get away.”

“DI Brian Rankin brought her to the orphanage?” Corstorphine asked.

“Aye. He was never interested in the boys, if you get what I mean. We reckoned he had a thing for young girls.”

“Did you ever know that for sure?” Frankie was sceptical.

Craig glared at her defiantly. “Don’t you believe anything I’ve said? You think I’d make stuff like this up?”

Corstorphine held a hand up, a pacifying gesture. “We believe you, Craig, but we need more than just an idea that Brian Rankin may have been involved in the sexual abuse of young girls. Can you state for the record that you saw Brian Rankin involved in any such activity?”

Craig shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No. Not for sure. It’s just every other visitor who came was there for one thing. He may not have done anything.” He brightened suddenly. “Oscar reckoned he’d seen the girl in the detective’s car in the town, the morning she disappeared. Everyone else said she’d run away, probably died on the moors.”