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“They’ve taken him,” I sob into her shoulder. “They think he stole those things, but he didn’t. No one believes us.”

Jamie clears his throat awkwardly. “Well . . . I believe you.” When I look up at him, surprised, he shrugs. “Robbie saved my life. The least I can do is give him the benefit of the doubt, right? Besides, if you believe he’s innocent . . . well, that’s good enough for me.”

His unexpected support means more than I can say. I wipe at my tears.

“Come on,” Maisie says. “Let’s get you inside and figure out what to do next.”

As they lead me back towards my flat, I cast one last look in the direction the police car disappeared. I won’t give up on Robbie. I just won’t.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ROBBIE

The interview room at Bannock police station hasn’t changed in the years since I was last here. Same grey walls. Same scratched metal table. Same fluorescent light that buzzes like an angry wasp, flickering just enough to grate on your nerves. It’s surreal to think that thirty minutes ago I was with Cat—in Cat—and now I’m here in this cold box.

I slump into the chair opposite Sinclair and Muir and cross my arms over my chest. The handcuffs are off now, though my wrists still feel the phantom pressure of the metal.

“Interview commencing at twenty-one thirty-seven,” Sinclair says, pressing a button on the recorder that sits between us. “Present are Detective Sergeant Gordon Sinclair, Police Constable Ailsa Muir, and Robert MacDonald.

“Robert, you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

“Aye. I heard it at Cat’s flat. And every time you hauled me in here as a kid.”

Sinclair ignores my dig. “You’re entitled to free and independent legal advice. Would you like a solicitor present?”

“Don’t need one. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This interview is being recorded as evidence,” Muir chimes in, her voice crisp, professional. “Do you understand that?”

I nod.

“Verbal response for the recording, please,” she prompts.

“Aye, I understand.”

“Would you like anything to drink before we begin?” Sinclair says. “Water? Tea?”

“I’m good. Let’s just get on with it.”

He nods and folds his hands on the table. “We’re here to discuss the thefts at the Glen Garve Resort. Three incidents in all. A watch, valued at approximately twenty-five thousand pounds, vanished from one room. Then there was the pair of diamond earrings. And finally, a signet ring was taken, along with two thousand pounds in cash.”

“Look, this is all a misunderstanding. I think Samantha Drummond⁠—”

Sinclair holds up a hand. “I’ll be asking the questions here, Robbie.”

I clench my jaw. Didn’t he say I’d get to tell my side of the story at the station? And yet here we are, at the station, and I’m still not being given the chance to speak. When exactly will my chance come?

“Let’s start with your employment at the resort,” Sinclair continues. “You worked in maintenance, correct?”

“Aye.”

“And that gave you access to guest rooms?”

“When necessary. For repairs.”

“According to the keycard logs, you accessed room 118 on the fourth of August at sixteen thirty-seven. Can you explain why?”

I straighten. “I didn’t. I wasn’t in that room on that date.”