Hamish frowned, recalling the dreadful day. “He spent a while looking at the rope, said he thought she’d probably thrown it over the branch and then secured it. He asked me to look around, see if I spotted anything unusual. I remember he was quite keen to see if her reporter’s notebook had fallen out of her pocket, but there wasn’t anything that I could find.”

“OK, Hamish. Just one other thing. You didn’t have to clear the track of any logs or boulders to get the patrol car under the tree?”

Hamish shook his head. “No, sir. The track was clear – estate vehicles used it all the time, so it was kept well maintained.”

“Any marks on her body, had her clothes been disturbed – do you think there was any possibility she could have been raped before she died?”

The sergeant looked at Corstorphine, shock clear in his expression. “Raped? No, at least I don’t think so. That would have been picked up by the post mortem report, by forensics. Her clothes were dishevelled, but then again you’d expect that after you’ve struggled on a rope for a few seconds.” His eyes were still wide as he remembered the scene, remembered her face. “It was her expression, sir. I never want to see another corpse with an expression like that – it was as if she’d seen the devil himself.”

“Do you think it was suicide, Hamish?” Corstorphine asked the question quietly, watching him carefully as he formulated his answer.

The sergeant hesitated, his expression troubled.“I always thought there was something that didn’t add up, sir. I knew the woman, she never seemed the sort to take her own life – and she loved that girl of hers. It never made sense to me but I was just a constable then and the DI managed the investigation together with the forensics guys when they finally made it from Inverness. They said her death was a suicide, and I accepted that’s what it was. They had all the evidence, had investigated the scene.”

“Why the doubt now, Hamish? What’s changed from twenty-two years ago?”

Hamish’s eyes were troubled. “I’ve been thinking about the telephone call, about the Australian hiker. Nobody walks along that glen, it doesn’t lead anywhere. There’s nothing to attract hikers – not even a reasonable hill to climb.” He raised his head to look directly into Corstorphine’s face. “I think now that I recognised the caller’s voice. I think Oscar made the emergency call, faking an Australian accent, and I think Oscar may have killed her.”

“Why didn’t you say at the time? It’s a bit bloody late to raise your suspicions now!” Corstorphine’s voice rose, his frustration of the case manifesting as anger.