Candles and Roses
information—addresses, names of friends she’d mentioned in passing. There was little likely to be of use to them.
    Horton held out the phone. ‘Many thanks for letting me look at this.’
    Mrs Scott took the phone and then, hesitating for a moment, pushed it back across the table. ‘You might as well hold on to it. The information might be useful to you.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘I don’t need it anymore.’ Her eyes were darting towards the door, as if she expected her husband to burst in at any moment.
    ‘If you’re sure. I can hold on to it as potential evidence.’
    ‘I won’t want it back.’
    Horton took the phone from the table and slipped it into her pocket. ‘I’m very grateful for what you’ve told me, Mrs Scott.’
    ‘And you won’t—?’
    ‘Not in a million years, Mrs Scott. Trust me, not in a million years.’
     

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    McKay’s interview with Scott was less productive. Scott had made it clear that he had no interest in being there. The fact that his contribution might assist in the identification of his daughter’s killer seemed of little interest for him. He’d seemed more concerned about the fact that he and his wife were being interviewed separately.
    ‘What was Katy like as a child?’ McKay had asked early on.
    ‘Is that relevant?’
    ‘We’re trying to gain an understanding of what your daughter was like, Mr Scott. It all helps.’
    ‘Well, she was—’ Scott stopped, as if trying to find the right words. His eyes blinked behind his thick spectacles. ‘She was the apple of my eye,’ he said, finally.
    McKay hadn’t been sure what he’d been expecting, but not that. Whatever the real nature of Scott’s relationship with his daughter, McKay had been expecting nothing more than the same contempt and dismissal they’d heard the previous day.
    ‘You were close, then?’ McKay said. ‘When she was smaller?’
    Scott looked up at him, his eyes clear and unblinking. ‘Aye, we were close,’ he said. ‘Two of a kind. You know what it’s like between fathers and daughters.’
    McKay gazed back at him, trying to fathom this man. I know what it was like between me and my daughter, he thought. But I can’t begin to imagine what it might have been like between you and yours.
    ‘She was different then,’ Scott went on. For the first time, there was a note of genuine loss in his voice. It was as if his real daughter, the daughter he’d really wanted, had died a long time ago. ‘She’d do anything for me. She’d do whatever I said. She was—well, she was mine.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘She was an obedient child, that’s all I mean. She did her schoolwork, dressed smartly. Went to church with us. Went to bed when we told her to. She was the kind of daughter any man would want.’ The smile grew wider, though with no evident warmth. ‘Her sister Emma was the difficult one.’ He leaned forward and stared at McKay. ‘It was God’s will she was taken, just as it’s God’s will that Katy’s been taken now.’
    The words were unexpectedly chilling. It was then that McKay recognised the emotion he’d read in the man’s face when they’d broken the news of Katy’s death. Not surprise or shock. Not despair or anguish.
    Relief.
    That was what it had been. Relief that, finally, his daughter would not be there to expose him. That now there was no danger that, one day, two police officers might turn up on his doorstep for a very different reason. He recalled Scott’s apparent shock when he’d first introduced himself, and how, if anything, the man had seemed calmer once they’d broken the news. Scott had his wife firmly under his thumb. His only potential vulnerability had been his daughter, out there in the wide world. And now she was gone.
    If McKay’s speculations were correct—and, increasingly, despite the absence of anything approaching substantive evidence, he was beginning to believe they were— Scott had a motive for his daughter’s killing. It was

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