There was complete silence as all eyes were turned to the illuminated whiteboard. This time, the Facebook user, Dave Harkness, had selected a grinning skull over two crossed bones.

  ‘Used on the graves of plague victims,’ Scott said helpfully. ‘Jolly-looking fellow despite the nasty end these victims must have suffered.’

  ‘What did the original team make of that?’ asked Molly. ‘Seems odd.’

  ‘I don’t think much was made of it at the time, to be honest. People have all sorts of strange avatars these days.’

  ‘What else?’ Lorimer asked.

  Molly glanced back at him, seeing the arms folded, the slight trace of a smile on his lips as though he were enjoying John Scott’s little performance.

  ‘This, however,’ Scott said with a smile, ‘was written on both women’s Facebook page just two nights after they died.’

  Like a magician saving his best trick till last, Scott placed the final page under the projector.

  GOODBYE, GOODBYE

  ‘Not something that elicited a like or a share, not even a comment. Probably nobody really read the posts except to see if their own was there.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘Not long after their bodies were discovered and the news hit the papers. There were plenty of posts on their Facebook pages after that.’

  The words in themselves should not have sent a chill down Molly Newton’s spine but the very fact of there now being a link like this between the two dead women made her shiver. Murmurs amongst the team were allowed for a moment or two until Lorimer raised his hand and nodded for the IT expert to continue.

  ‘Interestingly, that was also removed from their pages a mere twenty-four hours after it was posted,’ he ended. ‘And so far we can find no other trace of a Dave Harkness anywhere on the system linked to either of them.’

  ‘Good work, John.’ Lorimer nodded, and the IT man sat down again, red-faced with pleasure as the whole team broke into impromptu applause.

  ‘Now we have confirmation, to an extent, of what we had suspected: Carolyn Kane and Patricia Donovan were both targets of a stalker, possibly the same person that took their lives.’

  Molly nodded her silent approval. It was bad practice to state that something was likely on evidence as tenuous as this and they all knew it, but there had been a feeling amongst them all from the start that both women had died at the hands of a man who had hunted them down over a period of time. She roused herself as Lorimer continued to speak.

  ‘You all know how difficult it is to trace a stranger killer,’ he told them. ‘There is no match on our database for the DNA found at both crime scenes, contact traces that make it almost certain that the killer of Carolyn and Patricia are one and the same man.’

  Everyone watched as Lorimer sat up straight again, hands clasped on top of the table. ‘And that is one reason why we are again enlisting the services of Professor Solomon Brightman to create a profile for us.’ There were a few murmurs and heads turning to glance at fellow officers.

  ‘Given the pressure we are under to solve this one as fast as we can,’ Lorimer had raised his eyebrows knowingly, ‘there are plenty of resources at our disposal.’

  Molly took a deep breath. The man ought to have been a politician, she thought. That was tantamount to saying that Lord Donovan had pulled strings and every member of the MIT would be required to work their butts off until his daughter’s murderer was safely behind bars. But at any rate the powers on high had given the green light to spending what was needed on the case, including the services of that bearded professor Molly had met on a few occasions in this very building.

  ‘We need the press on our side,’ Lorimer told them. ‘We have a few very good investigative journalists who still keep some sort of integrity when it comes to handling police investigations. Not all of them are out to make cheap copy,’ he added. ‘Our press officers are already preparing statements for the nationals but this latest bit of information stays here. Understood?’

  Nodding heads and yes boss, yes sir showed the solidarity of their agreement, Molly noticed. It was important to follow the detective superintendent’s lead. One slip of the tongue could result in days or even weeks of work being wasted, not to mention evidence required at a later date for the law courts.

  Lorimer lifted the telephone in his office and tapped in the extension number. A few moments later a familiar lilting voice gave his name and rank.

  ‘DCI Cameron.’

  ‘It’s me, Lorimer, can you spare a minute?’

  He put down the phone and drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk. Then, taking up a pencil, he wrote the words DAVE HARKNESS on a piece of paper. On the rare occasions when they spent an evening together and found time to do a crossword, he and Maggie enjoyed the cryptic clues with hidden words and anagrams spicing up the Gazette’s back page. Now these words seemed to rearrange themselves in front of his gaze.

  He made a face and sighed. So obvious when you suddenly saw it and he was surprised that a lateral thinker like Scott hadn’t noticed it right away.

  ‘Boss?’ Niall Cameron had knocked and then opened the door and Lorimer motioned him to his side of the desk.

  ‘Have a look,’ Lorimer told him, drawing a pencil arc between the two names and circling the first letter of each.

  ‘Oh, heck,’ Cameron said. ‘Not one of us saw that even though Scottie had it up on a screen.’

  ‘Have Darkness,’ Lorimer said aloud. ‘It’s a message, don’t you think? Something to warn them about what was waiting for them.’

  ‘Professor Brightman will have plenty to say about that,’ Cameron agreed. ‘He was playing with them, do you think? Or giving them a chance to get away?’

  ‘What if he was hoping for something different? Not to kill them at all but to sweep them off in some deluded dream of his own? Isn’t that what stalkers do?’

  ‘And when they rejected his advances, terrified by a stranger’s approach, he panicked. Is that what you’re saying?’ Cameron asked.

  Lorimer nodded slowly. ‘It makes sense of the times he posted those Facebook messages, too,’ he said. ‘As if he were consigning them to eternal darkness, knowing they were already dead.’

  He gazed past the DCI, trying to understand the workings of a warped mind – and wondering if they would ever know what had really taken place in those Glasgow parks.

  The university was far less busy than usual given the Easter break, although several students were still on campus, eager to be prepared for their finals in the coming weeks. Solly had walked a little more slowly than usual, noticing the daffodils blowing in the morning breeze, their yellow trumpets bright against the well-tended lawns around the old buildings. There was a distinct chill in the air, a certain frostiness that was apparent on the verges shadowed beneath the grey walls. Winter in this northern climate had not yet relinquished its grip, he thought, pulling his coat collar across his neck. One day the sun might break through these clouds, giving the semblance of a warm summer’s day, the next a wind from the north-east could wreak havoc across the city. It had not been the first time that Solly had been caught out by the vagaries of Scotland’s weather and he knew that there were still some weeks before he could be sure of arriving to work without his tweed coat.

  The two women had been dressed for the weather, he mused: Carolyn Kane in a summer frock and sandals, Patricia Donovan in leggings and a sports top, her leather jacket discarded beneath the rhododendron bushes nearby. This killer wasn’t particular about the time of year he took his victims, something to which Solly had given thought over the previous evening. One thing did stand out, however, and that was the timing of each murder. Whoever had taken their lives had targeted the women during the school holidays. Was that significant or a mere coincidence? For Solly it was one more detail to add to the little he knew but everything helped to build up a tentative picture of the man. The women had been killed at night-time, each on their way home; Carolyn had been seeing her fiancé over in Shawlands, her walk across Queen’s Park cut short by the perpetrator. Why hadn’t Jake Richardson accompanied his wife-to-be across that expanse of parkland like he normally did? There had been a murder there some years before, after all. That, Solly told himself, was a question that the officers from the MIT would do well to ask.

  Molly had hidden her surprise at seeing Jake Richardson face to face for the first time. There was no denying he was a handsome fellow, his brown hair a little scruffy but just the right length to be considered fashionable, the two-day growth of beard giving him a raffish look. He was a little taller than her, she guessed, but with heels on Molly had the satisfaction of looking the man straight in his eyes as he opened the door of his Southside flat. She had long ago learned never to judge by appearances and preferred to listen to what a person had to say as well as to their manner of recounting a particular memory.

  ‘Mr Richardson? DS Newton, DC Giles, Police Scotland,’ Molly said, brandishing her warrant card then slipping it back into the inside pocket of her leather jacket. Davie nodded to the man but remained silent for now, letting his colleague take charge.

  The man stepped forward a little, hands clutching each side of the doorway, filling the space as though to deny her entry, his handsome face scowling back at her.

  ‘What do you want now?’ he demanded. ‘It’s been months since Caro was killed and you lot have done absolutely nothing as far as I can see,’ he told them.

  ‘We have reason to believe that the case may be linked to another more recent death,’ Molly told him quietly, looking Richardson straight in the eye, refusing to be intimidated by his bullish stance.

  ‘Oh, aye, some high court judge’s daughter gets it and all of a sudden you’re jumping to someone’s orders. Eh? That what you’re telling me?’ His voice grew louder and Molly was aware of a neighbour passing on the stairs, looking up at the two figures standing outside the entrance to Richardson’s flat.

  The actor must have been aware of it too, as he drew back and jerked his head towards the hallway.

  ‘S’pose you may as well come in,’ he told them grudgingly.

  She and Davie entered the flat as Richardson stood aside and waved them in, a grandiose gesture that held more than a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘In here,’ the actor told them gruffly, pointing towards an open door.

  Molly and Davie exchanged a brief glance as they entered the large room, clearly the main sitting room with a bay window that overlooked Queen’s Park.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Richardson said, throwing himself into an easy chair that sat against the light of the window, casting some shadows across his face. Was that a deliberate choice? Molly was alert to each and every detail as she watched the man, reminding herself that he was an actor, accustomed to the nuances of theatrical stagecraft. He would know how to hide himself from their gaze, making him less vulnerable to their scrutiny. Or perhaps this was simply the chair he usually favoured? It was a habit of hers to read too much into a situation, Molly reminded herself.

  ‘Mr Richardson, the case of your fiancée has never been closed,’ Molly began. ‘And I have to tell you that, yes, the high profile of Patricia Donovan has created a bit of media interest. You may well be doorstepped by the press in days to come,’ she added.

  Richardson’s eyebrows flew upwards in a moment of undisguised surprise.

  He hadn’t expected me to be so frank, Molly told herself. Maybe he would be a tad more cooperative as a consequence. ‘We are not officers from the original investigation,’ she continued, nodding towards Davie. ‘We represent the authority of the Major Investigation Team in Glasgow. Because there is reason to think that Carolyn and Patricia were targeted by the same killer it escalates the entire case, you see,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh.’ Richardson sank back against the cushions, his whole expression changing from tense aggression to a moment of defeat. The slumped shoulders and downcast eyes made him look a lot younger than his thirty-two years, Molly thought, in a sudden wave of sympathy. This was a bereaved man who had lost not just the woman he claimed to have loved but his entire future with her. Had they planned more than a wedding? Had a house and kids been part of the dream that had been shattered that fateful summer’s night? Another victim, she reminded herself. One of many.

  ‘I am sorry to have to go over such painful memories,’ Molly began. ‘But there may be something that you can tell us that could help find Carolyn’s killer.’

  The puzzled frown extended towards Davie who leaned forward and nodded his agreement.

  ‘We are talking to all of Carolyn’s friends again,’ Davie Giles assured him. ‘And one of the things that DS Newton and I are trying to find out about is the possibility that the two women may have experienced the unwanted attentions of the same man.’

  ‘A stalker?’ Richardson asked, his head tilted to one side as though he was now interested in what they were asking him. ‘Is that what you think? Some weirdo who followed both of them … ?’

  ‘That is one theory we are working on,’ Molly said in clipped tones, fuming inwardly at Davie. This man was used to publicity. It would never do for him to blab about this to the papers. ‘I have to ask you to keep such ideas strictly to yourself, of course,’ she added firmly. ‘Now, can you please cast your mind back to the last time you saw Carolyn.’

  Richardson gave a huge sigh and shook his head. ‘How can I ever forget it?’ he asked, one hand raised in a gesture that seemed a little too practised to Molly’s eyes. This was the actor back on his stage, performing for them, she decided. Nevertheless she would watch and listen to what he wanted to tell them, see how he recounted particular memories and decide if it was the truth.

  Richardson stood up and walked across to the window, hands folded behind his back so that they could not see his face.

  ‘I stood just here,’ he told them, in a voice that seemed full of genuine sorrow. ‘Watched her walk across the road and along to the corner. Knew she’d be crossing the park before it got dark.’ He turned to them now, his face serious. ‘It was late summer and a nice evening … she should have been okay walking home in the park … plenty of people about … ’

  ‘Why didn’t you go with her, see her safely home? You told the original investigating officers that’s what you usually did,’ Molly asked, her words sounding harsh though she had dropped her voice a little in an attempt to soften what was a difficult question.

  Richardson winced as though she had actually hit him. ‘Don’t you think I’ve asked myself that a thousand times?’ he cried. ‘God knows if I could turn the clock back then I would!’

  ‘So, why didn’t you?’ Molly persisted.

  Richardson turned away from them again. ‘I was waiting for a telephone call from my agent,’ he murmured, his voice barely audible. ‘Big part in a TV drama I was expected to get … ’

  ‘And did this agent call you that night?’ Molly continued. ‘Could you not have taken it on your mobile? Walked Carolyn home at the same time?’ She frowned. That didn’t make sense. Who stayed in waiting for a landline call nowadays? Some of her friends didn’t even have such a thing any more.

  Richardson turned around and both detectives could see tears streaming down his face. ‘I was always losing phones,’ he gulped. ‘Pretty absent-minded, I guess … ’

  ‘So your agent called you that night?’ Molly cut in. ‘You stayed in to find out about a part. What happened?’

  He shook his head. ‘Never called. Someone else got it. I could’ve walked Caro home after all.’ His voice was husky with emotion and regret. ‘All this time I’ve been blaming myself for that night … ’ He thumped his chest and tossed his head as though lost for more to say.

  Molly pursed her lips, unconvinced by the tone of Jake Richardson’s voice, the dramatic words and the beating of his breast a tad too staged for her liking.

  But her colleague had evidently been swayed by this little performance.

  ‘Don’t,’ Davie told him, standing up and crossing the room, a paper handkerchief held out to the weeping actor. ‘If what we believe is true then your fiancée’s killer was an opportunist who was waiting for the moment he would find her alone. You couldn’t have been with her every moment of the day.’

  Richardson blew noisily into the tissue, nodding briefly.

  But Molly Newton had a frown across her brow. Most couples engaged to be married had moved in together by this stage. Why not the Kane woman and her fellow? That was curious, surely? And another thing, in all of the paperwork and photographs, she had never seen a sign of an engagement ring.

  ‘Did Carolyn have a ring? An engagement ring?’ Had it been taken, perhaps, by the killer? Molly wondered. And if so, why had that never been made clear by the original investigating team?

  Richardson avoided her gaze. ‘Couldn’t afford one,’ he mumbled. ‘Would have bought her a beauty one day, of course,’ he added defiantly.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Davie began, shooting a dark look towards Molly as if her question had been out of order.

  ‘I’ll never forgive myself as long as I live! Never!’ Richardson cried out, thumping one fist against the other.

  ‘Something we are asking all of Carolyn’s friends,’ Molly went on calmly as though the man’s dramatic outburst was not taking place, ‘were you ever aware of anyone making a nuisance of themselves, pestering Carolyn in any way?’

  Richardson shook his head. ‘No,’ he told them. ‘I never saw anything … anyone … I promise you.’

  And Molly Newton believed him. Was this a man quite wrapped up in himself and unable to see further than his own persona? Maybe he had really been in love with Carolyn Kane, maybe some of these tears were genuine, but as she rose to take their leave, she doubted whether a person like Jake Richardson would fail to move on from this tragedy. He’d find someone else, she decided. Might even try to capitalise on the renewed interest in Carolyn’s death. For a moment she wished that the accountant they’d met had been able to win the dead woman’s heart after all. Molly gave herself a little mental shake. That was unfair to make such a sweeping generalisation about the man they had just met. Besides, how were they to be sure that Stuart Finlay was as genuine as he had appeared?