“So, no doubt these murders are linked.”

“No, sir.” Frankie waited as Corstorphine pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight as he remembered the dream and sought whatever meaning lay behind the images still fresh in his mind.

“Clocks!” Corstorphine almost shouted the word, his eyes now wide open. “Frankie, who do we know who repairs clocks?”

She observed him with concern, worried that his outburst might be the first manifestation of a hitherto unknown mental illness. “Sorry, sir, I’m not sure I understand.”

‘The gears. I think I know why they were used in both murders. I think they are timing mechanisms. We need specialist help, Frankie. We need someone who understands clocks and gears, who can help work out when these were fitted and how long they ran before they completed their tasks.” He shook his head in exasperation. “They could have been fitted months ago. Until we can recreate the murder scene apparatus, we won’t be able to pinpoint when the murderer fitted the devices.”

XIII
TUESDAY 07:03

Frankie stretched in bed, squinting at the nearby digital clock’s LED display until the numbers swam into focus. Another half hour before she had to leave for the morning shift. She attempted a stronger stretch, culminating the full extension with a fixed idiot grin at the ceiling. She’d watched a TV programme the previous evening where an inspirational Danish woman had insisted that the release of serotonin engendered by such an activity would help keep her happy for the rest of the day. She lay there, waiting patiently for the happiness chemical to work its magic whilst her mind was engaged with the two recent murders.

Corstorphine had proposed that the gears found at each scene were part of a clockwork mechanism, a means of setting the events into motion without the murderer having to be present. Forensics had even come up with a plausible theory for how the bell rope may have been connected via the bits of gear they’d manage to piece together. Frankie had studied the drawing they’d made; the bell rope’s up and down motion transferred via secondary nylon lines found still attached to the top of the rope and how they could pull the large bone wheel one way, then back the other. The reciprocating action strong enough to pull the hacksaw back and forth across the oak beam, cutting from underneath so that as the wood weakened, it would naturally open to allow the saw blade deeper access.

Who would want to murder the old minister? How was his death connected to Oscar’s? The coincidence of the same coin, the same carved gears being found at both crime scenes made it clear that the murders were linked.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, glancing just for a second at the other, empty half and wondered how he was doing. It was like this most mornings; she was still surprised to be alone as she awoke. How many years had it been? Three years since the divorce, three years married. She knew this represented some sort of fulcrum in her life, a point of balance between one chapter and another. She knew other women of a similar age, too old for a casual fling – or at least old enough to find fault with themselves for scratching that itch; too young to reconcile themselves to living on their own for the rest of their days – and all with similar embittered stories to tell of breakup, betrayal, divorce.