“Yes, sir.” Corstorphine was speaking to the door as it slammed shut, leaving him feeling more alone and isolated than the day his wife had died. He stood slowly, feeling the weight of his body as it overcame gravity and inertia. A foretelling of things to come, he thought to himself ruefully. Crossing to the other side of the desk, he switched the recorder off and stared at it for what seemed an eternity whilst his thoughts circled and collided against each other, forming dizzying patterns inside his head. He sat down, suddenly faint and sick with it all – sick from the murders and the hierarchy who were already trying to save their own skins by sacrificing everyone else. He could still see Brian’s body, crumpled on the garage floor, still hear Molly’s screams, see the accusation in her tear-stained eyes. He was responsible for Brian’s death – he should have arrested him at the outset, locked him in a cell where he’d still be now. He had omitted to do so only through a mistaken sense of loyalty, a gesture from one policeman to another. Too late now for regret.

XXXII FRIDAY 18:22

XXXII
FRIDAY 18:22

Lord Lagan adjusted his tuxedo in the full-length mirror, turning to admire his profile with a satisfied expression. A frown crossed his face, carving deep furrows in his high forehead, his eyes creasing into calculating slits. The detective’s words repeated in his mind – attempt on his life, serious allegations. Had someone from the orphanage said something? They were all supposed to have been silenced. His memories took him into forbidden territory – the rush it had given him as he squeezed the last life out of those children, the ones they had had to secretly dispose of. It would never do if that came to light. When he’d first heard of Oscar’s death it had come as something of a relief – no longer having to worry about what evidence the gamekeeper may have had, on him in particular. With that thug gone, perhaps some of the orphans may have felt brave enough to go to the police? And now the sheriff was no longer in play, he had no option but to submit to the indignity of an interview with some junior detective. At least the ACC was fighting his corner and he had a decent QC lined up to accompany him. He continued frowning at his reflection, pulling in his stomach until his paunch disappeared from sight. This was not very satisfactory. A string of murders making his life difficult. The frown left as quickly as it had arrived. In his experience every problem could be solved if you had enough money and power. He had enough of both to be all but invincible.