Corstorphine signed off and sat down heavily at his desk. Four people dead within a week, five children’s bodies awaiting forensics to exhume them and still no real idea who the murderer could be. Was it only seven days ago this had all started? It seemed like an eternity, and somewhere out there was a murderer who knew how each of the dominoes was going to fall before the first death had even occurred. He felt seriously out of his depth; a small town detective facing multiple murders and a serial killer who was running rings around them all.

With a heavy heart he opened the file that Josephine had left for him, a transcription of June Stevens’ last notebook entries detailing her suspicions and interviews. As he reached the final words, she wrote her concerns about meeting with Oscar in such a remote location. He knew now why her behaviour had changed in the weeks before her death. She had known the extent of the abuse, who was covering it up and how much she was putting herself – and her daughter – at risk by continuing with the investigation.

“You could have helped her, Brian. She didn’t need to die, hanging from that bloody tree whilst Oscar taunted her. You could have stopped all this.” His words fell uselessly on the empty air. Too little, too late.

XXXI FRIDAY 15:42

XXXI
FRIDAY 15:42

Frankie met Hamish as he was leaving at the end of his shift. “How’s Molly coping?”

He paused at the police station entrance, one hand holding the door open for her. “As well as can be expected. It’s come as a huge shock to her. Brian was hardly the type you’d expect to have been mixed up in anything like this.”

“Or someone you’d expect to shoot himself.”

Hamish shook his head at the futility of a life so easily extinguished. “I never had a clue he was involved in any of this, Frankie. He was always one of the straightest coppers I’d ever met, a real gentleman. I cannae believe it’s happening.” He endeavoured to find words adequate enough to describe his sense of bewilderment at the events of the last few days. “Any of it.”

“Did you know he was the one who took June Stevens’ daughter to the orphanage after her mother was found dead?” Frankie still couldn’t bring herself to say murdered, as if accepting there had been yet another murder might in some way cause the entire town to unravel. Was the small Highland town really that close to the edge? Perched on the edge of an abyss where societal norms collapse and people exact revenge for whatever wrongs had been committed in the past? She struggled to make sense of it, as they all did. One murder would have been bad enough; four deaths in a week felt like they were facing the end of days.