LITMIR.BIZ

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of smug pleasure. And him thinking he was such a catch.

      As if the tenor of her thoughts had penetrated his skull, Shaw turned and scowled. ‘Come on, then. Let’s get it over with.’

      Janice gave the cottage the once-over as Shaw pushed open the wooden gate and walked briskly up the short path. It was typical of the area; a low building with a couple of dormer windows thrusting out of the pantile roof, crow-stepped gables dressed with snow. A small porch thrust out between the downstairs windows, the harling painted some dun colour that was hard to identify in the weak light shed by the streetlamps. It looked well enough kept, she reckoned, wondering which room had been Rosie’s.

      Janice put the thought from her mind as she prepared herself for the coming ordeal. She’d been brought in to deliver the bad news on more than her fair share of occasions. It came with the gender. She braced herself as Shaw banged the heavy iron knocker on the door. At first, nothing stirred. Then a muted light glowed behind the curtains at the right-hand downstairs window. A hand appeared, pulling the curtain to one side. Next, a face, lit on one side. A man in late middle-age, hair greying and tousled, stared open-mouthed at the pair of them.

      Shaw produced his warrant card and held it out. There was no mistaking the gesture. The curtain fell back. A couple of moments later, the front door opened to reveal the man, tying the cord of a thick woollen dressing gown round his waist. The legs of his pyjamas pooled over faded tartan slippers. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded, hiding apprehension imperfectly behind belligerence.

      ‘Mr Duff?’ Shaw asked.

      ‘Aye, that’s me. What are you doing at my door at this hour?’

      ‘I’m Detective Constable Shaw, and this is WPC Hogg. Can we come in, Mr Duff? We need to talk to you.’

      ‘What have they laddies of mine been up to?’ He stood back and waved them inside. The inner door gave straight on to the living room. A three-piece suite covered in brown corduroy laid siege to the biggest TV set Janice had ever seen. ‘Have a seat,’ he said.

      As they made for the sofa, Eileen Duff emerged from the door at the far end of the room. ‘What’s going on, Archie?’ she asked. Her naked face was greasy with night cream, her hair covered in a beige chiffon scarf to protect her shampoo and set. Her quilted nylon housecoat was buttoned awry.

      ‘It’s the polis,’ her husband said.

      The woman’s eyes were wide with anxiety. ‘What’s the matter?’

      ‘Could you come and sit down, Mrs Duff?’ Janice said, crossing to the woman and taking her elbow. She steered her to the sofa and gestured to her husband that he should join her there.

      ‘It’s bad news, I can tell,’ the woman said piteously, clutching at her husband’s arm. Archie Duff stared impassively at the blank TV screen, lips pressed tightly together.

      ‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Duff. But I’m afraid you’re right. We do have some very bad news for you.’ Shaw stood awkwardly, head slightly bowed, eyes on the multicoloured swirls of the carpet.

      Mrs Duff pushed her husband. ‘I told you not to let Brian buy that motorbike. I told you.’

      Shaw cast a glance of appeal at Janice. She took a step closer to the Duffs and said gently, ‘It’s not Brian. It’s Rosie.’

      A soft mewing noise came from Mrs Duff. ‘That cannae be right,’ Mr Duff protested.

      Janice forced herself to continue. ‘Earlier tonight, the body of a young woman was found on Hallow Hill.’

      ‘There’s been some mistake,’ Archie Duff said stubbornly.

      ‘I’m afraid not. Some of the officers at the scene recognized Rosie. They knew her from the Lammas Bar. I’m very sorry to have to tell you that your daughter is dead.’

      Janice had delivered the blow often enough to know that most people fell into one of two reactions. Denial, like Archie Duff. And overwhelming grief that hit the surviving relatives like an elemental force of nature. Eileen Duff threw her head back and roared her pain at the ceiling, her hands twisting and wringing in her lap, her whole body possessed by anguish. Her husband stared at her as if she were a stranger, his brows drawn down in a firm refusal to acknowledge what was happening.

      Janice stood there, letting the first wave break over her like a spring tide on the West Sands. Shaw shifted from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next.

      Suddenly there were heavy footfalls on the stairs that led off one end of the room. Legs clad in pyjama bottoms appeared, followed by a naked torso then a sleepy face topped with a shock of tousled dark hair. The young man stopped a couple of steps from the bottom and surveyed the scene. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he grunted.

      Without turning his head, Archie said, ‘Your sister’s dead, Colin.’

      Colin Duff’s mouth fell open. ‘What?’

      Janice stepped into the breach again. ‘I’m very sorry, Colin. But your sister’s body was found a short while ago.’

      ‘Where about? What happened? What do you mean, her body was found?’ The words tumbled out as his legs gave way and he crumpled on to the bottom tread of the stairs.

      ‘She was found on Hallow Hill.’ Janice took a deep breath. ‘We believe that Rosie was murdered.’

      Colin dropped his head into his hands. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he whispered over and over again.

      Shaw leaned forward. ‘We’re going to need to ask you some questions, Mr Duff. Could we maybe go through to the kitchen?’

      Eileen’s first paroxysm of grief was easing now. She’d stopped wailing and turned her tear-streaked face to Archie. ‘Bide here. I’m no’ a bairn that needs to be kept from the truth,’ she gulped.

      ‘Have you got some brandy?’ Janice asked. Archie looked blank. ‘Or some whisky?’

      Colin stumbled to his feet. ‘There’s a bottle in the scullery. I’ll get it.’

      Eileen turned her swollen eyes to Janice. ‘What happened to my Rosie?’

      ‘We can’t be certain yet. It appears that she was stabbed. But we’ll need to wait for the doctor before we can be sure.’

      At her words, Eileen recoiled as if she herself had been struck. ‘Who would do a thing like that to Rosie? Her that wouldnae hurt a fly.’

      ‘We don’t know that yet either,’ Shaw chipped in. ‘But we’ll find him, Mrs Duff. We’ll find him. I know this is the worst time in the world to be asking you questions, but the sooner we get the information we need, the quicker we can make progress.’

      ‘Can I see her?’ Eileen asked.

      ‘We’ll arrange for that later today,’ Janice said. She crouched down beside Eileen and put a comforting hand on her arm. ‘What time did Rosie usually come in?’

      Colin emerged from the kitchen carrying a bottle of Bells and three glasses. ‘The Lammas has last orders at half-past ten. Most nights, she was in by quarter-past eleven.’ He put the glasses down on the coffee table and poured three stiff measures.

      ‘But some nights she was later?’ Shaw asked.

      Colin handed his parents a whisky each. Archie downed half of his in one gulp. Eileen clutched the glass but didn’t put it to her lips. ‘Aye. If she was going to a party or something.’

      ‘And last night?’

      Colin swallowed some whisky. ‘I don’t know. Mum? Did she say anything to you?’

      Eileen looked up at him, her expression dazed and lost. ‘She said she was meeting some friends. She didnae say who, and I didnae ask. She’s got a right to her own life.’ There was a defensive tone in her voice that told Janice this had been a bone of contention, probably with Archie.

      ‘How

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