One hand on the newel post, Maggie stiffened. She was sure she’d heard a noise

The questioning continued. “So you had a wee keek, Lewis, and then you made the girl tidy?” “Aye,” he grinned.

“What did you do then? Touch Lucy, maybe?” “He’s nine year old.”

“Even so, Mrs McHardy.”

Brian earned himself another hard look. “Lewis?” “She looked that puir, lyin’ oot in the cold like that,” Lewis turned an apologetic face. “Ah pit a wee cross on her.”

A shiver ran down Brian’s spine. “Why did you do that?” The boy shrugged. “Keep the bad folk away.”

“That’s whit ye get fur watchin’ them videos.” Morag McHardy’s face was livid.

“Would those be videos you were shown by a big boy?” Lewis gave Brian a sideways look.

“Do you remember? Back in my flat, you told me…” “Naw,” Mrs McHardy answered for her son. “It’s they Goth things ye’re aye…”

“Never mind about that,” Brian quieted the woman with a look. “We’ll return to the videos later. And when you left Lucy, did you leave her lying outstretched on the big stone with her jeans undone and that wee cross on her body?”

The boy nodded. “Aye.”

Alarm

“Let me ask you one more thing.” Brian collected his thoughts. “All that time you were with Lucy – the first time, when you went into St Machar and found her lying there and the other lads joined you, then when you went back on your own to have another look – in all that time, did Lucy show any sign of life?” A flicker of alarm crossed the boy’s face.

“A small movement, maybe?” Brian prompted. “No.”

“You sure?”

Lewis nodded.

“Quite sure?” Brian persisted.

For a moment, the lad hesitated.

“Do you remember what you’ve been told?” Brian continued. “Your answers will have very serious consequences. Not just for you, but for your mum too.”

Lewis looked to his mother. Morag McHardy squeezed her eyes shut.

“Let me put this to you again. Did you see any sign of life?”

The boy shook his head so hard Brian felt dizzy. “Lewis,” Brian dropped his voice. Leaned across the table. “She made a noise.” Lewis’s eyes were out on stalks. “A wee wan. Like she wis snorin’.”

There was a stunned silence in the room.

Brian bent forward until his eyes were level with Lewis’s own. “And what did you do?” he asked in a soft voice. Not that it made a difference. According to Alec Gourlay, the girl would have died anyway.

The boy cast around the small room: floor, walls, ceiling. He glanced from one official to another: DS, DC, solicitor. He eyed his mother. Morag McHardy’s eyes remained resolutely shut.

Lewis looked down at his hands. Looked up again. He scanned the four blank faces. Fixed his eyes on Brian.

“Ah jist wanted the quine tae shut up,” he pleaded. “Look, ah’ll show ye.” Lewis brought a hand to his face. “Ah said: ‘wheesht’, that’s aw.”

He spread five small fingers over his nose and mouth.

Exhausted

Maggie let herself in. Pulled the door to. For a few moments, she leaned back, exhausted. There wasn’t a sound from upstairs. Downstairs either. She tiptoed down the hallway and stuck her head into the dark kitchen.

Through the window, a full moon cast long shadows onto gleaming worktops through clouds thready as skeins of wool. Tired as she was, Maggie felt a warm surge of satisfaction. She never went to bed leaving a dirty kitchen. Her mother had trained her too well.

She turned. All she’d been thinking about for the past hour was a hot shower and a clean bed. She retraced her steps. At the foot of the stairs she stopped. She’d look in on Colin, she resolved, before she turned in.

One hand on the newel post, Maggie stiffened. She was sure she’d heard a noise. It came from behind, from the direction of the front door. Perhaps she’d been followed. Palpitations thudded in her chest. No, surely not.

The street had been deserted when she got out of her car. Still, Fatboy had given her a fright. And hadn’t Brian warned her if she persisted in pursuing Gilruth, she’d be dealing with dangerous people?

It came again, a low, guttural sound. Like air being expelled from a tyre. No, not a tyre. A balloon, maybe, or a… She stood stock still. Held her breath for as long as she could manage. Snore.

The sitting-room door stood slightly ajar. Hand flat against the woodwork, Maggie exerted gentle pressure until she could just see in. The sodium streetlights cast an unearthly glow over George’s chair, stripping it almost completely of colour.

Beyond that, the settee loomed out of the gloom like some great grey pachyderm. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she could make out a figure curled there.

On the carpet stood a bottle and an empty glass. “Wilma?” Maggie bent. Gently, she rocked the slumbering figure.

“Ah-ah-ah-ah…” A series of small snorts issued from Wilma’s nose. “Wilma!” Maggie poked a tentative finger into her neighbour’s arm.

The figure turned over, back to her. Maggie jabbed again, more aggressively this time.

“Wha-a-at?” The body jerked. Rolled over. One eye blinked open, followed after an interval by the other. “What are you doing here?”

Wilma’s head jerked upright. “Ah wis waitin’ fur you, ya daft bugger.” She rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Past midnight.”

Ponderously, Wilma heaved herself to a sitting position. “How did it go?”

She smothered a yawn. “Tell you in the morning.” “Maggie.” Wilma was wide awake now. “Seriously, Wilma, I’m shattered.”

Impatient

“I’ll make you a good strong cup of tea.”

“No, it would only keep me awake.”

“Drink, then. I’ve a bottle on the go.”

“Oh, all right.” She flopped down onto the settee. “Just the one.”

Maggie took a mouthful from the generous glass of wine Wilma poured.

She swilled it around her mouth, savouring the brambly flavours of the Shiraz, then swallowed, letting the peppery liquid prickle the back of her throat.

“Well?” Impatient voice. “Did them kids play ball?” She threw a rueful smile. “Yes and no. I didn’t get much joy on the drugs front, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Wilma’s face fell. “Wasn’t that the whole point of the exercise?”

“Yes. And I did manage to scare the living daylights out of the lot of them during our wee session down the beach. All except Willie.” Maggie pulled a face. “He was still protesting his innocence when I left him.” “Then if you didn’t get any joy on the drugs…”

“I got something else. Wee Kyle let on it was them moved Lucy Simmons at St Machar.” Wilma’s eyes popped. “What did he have to say?” “It was Kieran that filled in the gaps. And after we got to Brian’s…”

More tomorrow.