The car park exit had magically cleared following the press statement with just a couple of reporters making a lunge for their cameras as Corstorphine drove out. The site of the old orphanage gardens was just a few minutes away. As the entrance came into view, they could see it was already blocked by a phalanx of camera crews and reporters struggling to get the best position. PC Lamb stood implacably in the entrance, standing behind a line of white and blue police tape that nobody was willing to risk crossing. Corstorphine instructed PC McAdam to help Lamb man the entrance and dived under the tape to meet the crew of workers wheeling something the size of a small fridge over the ground. An umbilical of wires led to a man sitting on an upturned flight case in the middle of the gardens, laptop perched on his knee.

Corstorphine introduced himself, only recognising PC Lamb’s father as he lifted his head up from the display.

“Hello, James. Quite the circus you’ve got following you around today.”

“It’s not through choice, I can assure you. Police work is a damn sight easier without reporters pointing their telephotos in your direction. Have you found anything?”

Douglas Lamb pointed a finger at the screen, where a jumbled mess of lines and colours provided a complicated display. “This area outlined in red represents where the soil has been recently disturbed. I’d say you have five distinct pits that have been dug within the last year, possibly containing the bodies you’re looking for. We’re just finishing off the site now.” He stood up, arching his back to stretch. “Been sitting here for the last three hours,” he offered by way of an explanation. “Oh, and by the way, the boys found this, thought you’d be interested.”

Corstorphine followed him across the lawn, now criss-crossed with deep tyre treads where the radar had been driven in parallel sweeps. He pointed to a young oak tree, green leaves freshly budding on the branches. It looked unremarkable, just a sapling, complete with stake and protective sleeve. Then he noticed the wooden plaque set into the ground, the words written in the same script that he’d seen inscribed on the hourglass.

They shall remember you

Inset into the wood was a papal coin. He didn’t need to check the date to know it was the same as the others, 1997. “Is this where the radar found the graves?”

A single nod confirmed his expectations.

“When do you think the ground was last disturbed?”

“Difficult to say, around a year ago probably. The tree would have been planted at the same time, near as we can tell. Do you think this is where they buried the children?”