Then Stewart let himself go. ‘Did you hear what I said?’ he bellowed, banging his fist on the desk. In front of him, officers shifted uncomfortably on their seats but didn’t voice what they were thinking, that last night’s debacle had nothing to do with them. They were part of a team, and somewhere down the line of command someone had messed up and now they were all complicit.

‘But surely the evidence had already been removed.’ Ross spoke clearly, attempting to move the briefing on. ‘So, nothing of any note could have been lost in the fire.’

Stewart turned on him. ‘Nothing of any note was lost? Forgive me, Ross, I didn’t know that you were psychic. A wee talent you’ve kept hidden?’

Ross’s blush moved from his neck to his cheeks. ‘What I mean, boss, is that—’

But Stewart cut him off. ‘Is that meant to make me feel better? That at least we managed to collect some evidence before the place was torched? And since you’re psychic, perhaps you’d like to tell us who managed to get by two of Strathclyde’s finest and burn the bloody house down?’ Speckles of spit escaped from Stewart’s mouth and landed on his notes.

Ross kept his eyes on the floor. Said nothing.

Stewart turned from him and addressed the team. ‘So, despite our best efforts and you will admit they haven’t been sterling so far, the killer or killers managed to murder James Gilmore, then sneak back into the house under our noses and destroy whatever else it was they didn’t want us to find. But thank you, acting DI Ross, I’m gratified that in your opinion we’ve no cause to worry.’

Nervous sniggers spread around the room. Stewart ignored them. ‘So, let’s move on. Who was James Gilmore?’

Wheeler spoke. ‘James Gilmore, age fifty-four, lived alone. Unmarried. Worked as an educational psychologist peripatetically in Glasgow schools.’

Stewart continued, ‘A victim who was found by two former pupils of Watervale Academy beaten to death in his own home.’ Stewart glanced behind him; photographs of the body had been pinned onto the board. He waited for a few seconds, letting the team take in the horrendous images. Watched the faces scowl in concentration as they registered the bloody purple of Gilmore’s battered flesh and the hook on which the body had been hung.

‘Okay. Now we know what we’re dealing with, I want you to think about who would do something like this.’ He looked around the room then continued, ‘What do we have?’

Silence.

‘Well, let’s get updated. Someone must have seen something. Let’s start with door-to-door enquiries.’ He pointed to a uniformed officer in the second row. ‘Well?’

‘Door-to-door gave up nothing helpful, boss. It seems that Gilmore’s house is too remote for him to have anyone just passing by. A few neighbours knew him by sight and said that they were on nodding terms with him but nothing more. There were never any invites round for drinks or dinner; apparently he never socialised with any of his neighbours. Not even a card at Christmas, nothing. He kept himself very much to himself.’

‘A ghost,’ muttered Ross.

‘What was that?’ Stewart turned towards him.

‘Nancy Paton, the head teacher at Watervale, made it sound like Gilmore came and went so quietly it was like he was a ghost,’ he paused, ‘albeit, according to her, a benign one.’

Stewart pursed his lips. ‘So, he came and went without any real presence? Your take on him, Ross?’

‘The guy was a bit of a loner – he’d no wife or girlfriend and he worked with kids on a one-to-one.’ He paused, letting the possibility hang in the air.

‘Any evidence?’

Ross shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

Stewart looked at Wheeler. ‘What’s your gut instinct about the head teacher? Do you think she trusted him?’

Wheeler nodded. ‘Absolutely. She said he was very good with the kids.’

‘Then keep an open mind.’ Stewart glanced around the team. ‘Last known movements?’

More silence.

Wheeler spoke again. ‘Hard to tell – he wasn’t due at Watervale until today. He had two other schools on his rota,’ she checked her notes, ‘St Austin’s and Cuthbertson High. I’ll call them today. Send someone over to interview the staff.’

He looked at her, the tension easing from his face. ‘Good and check receipts, find out where he did his shopping, get CCTV from the stores. Where did he buy his petrol? They must have CCTV in the forecourts. Which garage did he use to get his car MOT’d? Check all of the usual background information.’ He paused. ‘Education personnel have emailed Gilmore’s file and it chimes in with what Ms Paton said about the other schools. James Gilmore’s mother is in a home in Milngavie. She’s recovering from a minor operation but I’ve sent two uniformed officers and an FLO to break the news to her.’

‘The death knock,’ muttered Ross.

‘And DI Wheeler will go see her today,’ said Stewart. ‘Now, did you get anything else from the head teacher?’

Wheeler glanced at her notes. ‘Nothing much, boss. She said James Gilmore was one of the good guys, tried to help the kids at school. He worked with one child in particular, George Grey. Gilmore had no real conflict with any of the kids, no run-ins, he was generally seen to be on their side,’ she paused, ‘and Ms Paton was particularly adamant that neither Alec Munroe nor Rab Wilson could’ve been involved in his death.’

‘She said she’d bet her whole career on it,’ added Ross.

‘Well that’s understandable, given that she was their head teacher, but let’s not just take her word for it – let’s try to keep an open mind, shall we?’ Stewart steepled his fingers. ‘They’re neither in nor out of the frame. At this point good police work is about gathering information and evidence – it’s too early to eliminate anyone unless we know conclusively that they had no involvement in the murder.’

Wheeler drummed her fingers on the side of her chair. ‘The kids definitely couldn’t be involved. No blood spatters, boss, no scratches, nothing.’ She’d spoken her thoughts out loud.

‘Remember, Wheeler, theirs are the only footprints we have at the scene,’ said Stewart.

‘The killer was careful, boss, wiped the place down before he left. He’s a pro. These kids are less than amateurs,’ said Wheeler.

‘But they could’ve known whoever did it,’ suggested a female uniformed officer sitting at the back of the room. ‘It could’ve been one of their pals – a school like that, who knows?’

‘Or a brother, father, uncle,’ agreed Boyd. ‘Gilmore could have upset someone associated with the school.’

‘It would have to have been a very bad upset to result in a murder,’ Ross said.

Stewart tapped his fingers on his notes. ‘So for the moment it’s too early to dismiss the idea that the murder isn’t linked in some way to the school. What do we know about the place?’ He looked around the room, ‘Anyone have any direct dealings with Watervale Academy in the past?’

Only one person nodded.

‘Well, spit it out Robertson.’

All eyes were on him and Robertson flushed. ‘It was personal business, sir.’

‘Not now it isn’t. Go on. Shoot.’

‘Outreach, sir.’

‘Sorry, come again?’

‘My hall—’

‘Your hall?’ Stewart interrupted.

‘The Gospel Hall I belong to, sir, we do outreach. We go into schools, give a wee talk about God and try to get to know the kids. We spend a bit of time telling them how to accept God, try to get them to listen to . . . the right side of things.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘Well, we also encourage them to come to Sunday School and Bible-study class. To turn to the Lord and be saved.’

‘Bible-bashers,’ said Ross under his breath, ‘happy-clappies.’

Stewart looked at Ross. ‘Unhelpful.’

‘So did anyone from Watervale come to the classes?’ Boyd asked.

‘A few,’ Robertson replied, ‘but not recently. This was over a year ago. A couple of kids came for a few Sundays, then they tailed off. By that time we were recruiting in . . . I mean we were visiting . . . other schools.’