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there with him but walked on her own and he met her there.’
    ‘You buy that?’ he asked doubtfully.
    ‘No. The extent of the violence, the number of blows – that wasn’t an attack on a stranger. I’m sure they walked there together and he murdered her, left her there to rot, then walked back across the ice on his own, knowing full well that any trace of him would soon melt away.’
    The investigation had gone on for months but it petered out in the end. Like all unsolved murders, the case was never officially closed but practicalities took over and people got moved on to something that became more pressing. They pulled out the stops again a year after the murder, got TV and newspapers down to the lake and tried to push every button they could but nothing. Well, almost.
    ‘My dad’s main suspect – in fact, his only suspect – was a guy called Laurence Paton. He was twenty-three, a student teacher at Jordanhill in Glasgow. There was no evidence against him, nothing concrete to go on, just my dad’s well-practised copper’s nose.’
    ‘Why this guy?’
    ‘He was at the lake for the reconstruction on the anniversary. My dad spotted him and something set off his spider sense. He says there was something overly nervous about the guy. Paton said he was just there out of curiosity because he’d read about the killing and thought it was terrible. Plenty of other people were there on the same basis, right enough.’
    ‘But your old man didn’t believe him?’
    ‘He’s not an old man,’ Rachel snapped. ‘But no, he didn’t. He hauled Paton in for a chat but got nowhere. Paton said he’d been in Glasgow the weekend of the murder and had been in various pubs. No way anyone was going to be able to confirm or deny that after so long though. My dad couldn’t budge him but was sure Paton was hiding something. He could smell it.’
    Winter looked out of the window, Inchmahome popping in and out of the mist like a ghost winking at him, and now realised why she had stared so fixedly at the view, why she had been so desperate to grab the binoculars and study it.
    ‘What did the other cops think?’
    Rachel shook her head.
    ‘They didn’t make Paton for it. Said they had absolutely nothing tying him to the girl and they should look elsewhere. My dad was sure though. He never stopped thinking of Paton as his number one guy. He never stopped thinking of the case full stop . . .’
    Rachel let her voice trail off.
    ‘And he still hasn’t?’ Winter guessed.
    She shook her head sadly.
    ‘It was his last case – the last one of any significance anyway. He had done his thirty years and was due to retire. It wasn’t the way he wanted to go out though. He felt he’d let the girl down. He couldn’t even find out who she was. He had . . .’
    Rachel lost her words again and Tony slipped his arms round her, sensing her mounting distress.
    ‘Go on, if you’re ready to.’
    ‘I’m fine. It’s okay. He had always kept an eye out for the case and for Laurence Paton. For years, it seemed not to bother him as much. Or at least I thought so. But in the last year . . . he hasn’t been well, not himself at all, and he keeps talking about the Lake of Menteith and the girl. He’s really not well, Tony. I’ve been kidding myself that he’s getting better, that he’ll be okay, but he’s not.’
    ‘What exactly is wrong with him?’
    She breathed deep, composing herself before answering but still choking on her words.
    ‘Alzheimer’s. They say it’s at a relatively early stage, certainly of its detection, but the symptoms seem to be progressing quickly. He’s moved out of the house and into a home. He’s always looked after himself with no problem since my mum died but . . . well, it’s his decision.’
    ‘And you’ve known about this for how long?’
    ‘Christ, Tony, don’t give me a hard time over it, please. I’ve known for over a month but I’ve been in denial, I suppose. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but,