XII
MONDAY 17:09

“Come on in, James. Molly’s just put the kettle on. You’ve time for a tea?”

Corstorphine shook the old DI’s hand, stepping into the hallway of an anonymous bungalow on the outskirts of town. The area was full of retired folk, the neat postage stamp gardens and manicured hedges evidence of those with hours to kill and nothing much to fill those hours.

“Hi, Molly, how are you keeping?” He kissed the woman whose inquisitive face had turned into a welcoming smile as she recognised Corstorphine.

“Och, I’m fine, James, and you’re looking more handsome every time I see you!” Her face crumpled into well-worn laughter lines. It was their standing joke that she was on the verge of leaving her husband to run off with the new DI. At least Corstorphine hoped it was a joke.

“I’ll bring through a pot. You two must have lots of catching up to do.” She disappeared back into the kitchen, busying herself with cups and saucers – the old mugs being returned to the cupboard in deference to the arrival of a guest.

“How are you keeping, Brian?” He settled into a plush armchair, noticing the old DI struggling to lower himself into his chair.

“Och, me, I’m fine. Overdid the gardening yesterday so my back’s giving me gyp. What’s the latest on that terrible affair with Oscar? The paper’s calling it a murder.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You remember the reporter who died at the same spot – June Stevens?”

Molly came in with a tray, cups and saucers rattling as she lowered it onto a small table. Her head lifted as she overheard a name she recognised. “That poor lass. Such a terrible thing.” Molly shook her head in disbelief that anything so tragic had happened in their quiet little town.

“Now, Molly, don’t go getting upset. It’s all ancient history now – the poor girl is in a better place.” Brian patted her arm. “You’d better leave us to talk – police business.”

“Police business,” she said disparagingly. “You’ve been retired seven years, Brian, I shouldn’t think you’re going to be of any help to James at all. Don’t you go exhausting him, James. He’s still recovering from doing all that gardening yesterday.”

They waited until she’d left them before Brian spoke. “Why are you bringing that old case up, James, thought you’d have enough on your plate with Oscar’s death?”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. I think there may be a link between her death and Oscar’s.”

Brian’s jaw dropped, surprise written across his face. “Linked? How do you mean? Was Oscar’s death a suicide as well?”

“Not quite. Someone left a coin at the scene which was minted in 1997, the same year that June Stevens was found hanging from that tree. I’m fairly certain Oscar’s death wasn’t a suicide, just need to check a few facts with you if that’s alright?”

“Aye, happy to help in any way I can.” The old DI indicated the tray to Corstorphine, encouraging him to help himself. He took a cup of tea, adding a splash of milk. “Have a Tunnocks as well, they’ll not keep forever.”