“No. I’m not saying anything.”

A woman came into the shop. “Morning, madam,” William’s voice lost the anger as he greeted the customer with obvious relief. “If there’s nothing else?” He directed this at Frankie, her cue to leave.

“No. That’s all. Thank you for your help, William. We’ll be in touch.”

She sat back in the patrol car, emotions and thoughts running around her head. Something had happened to him at the orphanage, of that she had no doubt. His response had her worried, though. He was fearful of something or someone. What would worry a large man in the prime of his life? Was it a secret he carried inside him or was there a threat hanging over him? Far from putting the orphanage story to bed, as she had hoped, he’d just made it much more real. She consulted the list again. There were a couple of names she recognised, and more names that set a chill in her heart that the sun wasn’t going to be able to thaw. Some of those names belonged to children who had died when they were young. She remembered assemblies where she and the other pupils had stood with heads bowed at the early passing of children not much younger than themselves.

Corstorphine was not going to like this: another line of investigation to add to the existing murders, but what if those children had died because of something that had happened to them at the orphanage? What if they were murdered as well?

She made her way back to the police station, still deep in thought as she entered the office.

“How did you get on?” Corstorphine had been standing so motionless in front of the crazy board that she hadn’t realised he was there.

“Oh, fine, sir.” She handed over the sheet with the orphans’ names; they’d been countersigned by some of the sisters. “Managed to talk them into giving me a list of the kids who were resident at the orphanage at the time social services took them over.”

Corstorphine studied the list with interest. “Good work, Frankie. Do you know any of them?”

“That’s it, sir. Almost the first name on the sheet, William Booth. We were at school together. I’ve just been to see him. He owns the butchers in the high street.”

“Booth the Butchers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, that is interesting.”

Frankie couldn’t see why the name was of interest to Corstorphine. “I asked him about his time at the orphanage, sir. He didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Go on.”

“Well, sir, he seemed defensive, and I think he was frightened of someone or something. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost when I mentioned it.”

Corstorphine looked down at the list of names again. “Do any of the others still live here?”