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My heart hammers as DS Sinclair leads our unusual procession through the Glen Garve Resort’s staff corridor and towards Craig’s office. This is it, our one shot to clear Robbie’s name. Since my breakthrough last night, I’ve rehearsed my points, gathered our evidence, and now I just need to make everyone listen.

Robbie walks beside me, his jaw set in that determined way I’ve come to recognise. His hand finds mine and gives it a quick squeeze.

“Ready?” I whisper.

He nods once. “As I’ll ever be.”

I shoot a quick glance over my shoulder at PC Muir, who’s taking up the rear. Her expression is professionally neutral.

Ahead, Sinclair stops at Craig’s office door, knocks twice, then opens it without waiting for a response. Robbie, Muir, and I file in after him.

Craig sits behind his desk, looking more tired than imposing. Johnny hovers by the window, and then there’s Samantha, perched on a chair with perfect posture, her appearance flawless and her uniform so crisp I’m surprised it doesn’t crackle when she moves. The tight bun at the nape of her neck doesn’t have a single hair out of place, but I don’t miss how her fingers clench around her handbag when she spots Robbie.

“What’s he doing here?” she demands. “I thought he was banned from the premises.”

“Mr MacDonald is here with our permission,” Sinclair explains. “As part of our investigation.”

Samantha’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rise. “I thought you had concluded your investigation?”

“We’ve been advised that new evidence has come to light.” Sinclair glances at me and Robbie. “Apparently, all will become clear shortly.”

I take this as our cue. “It will.” I step into the centre of the room and give Robbie a quick tug so he moves with me. All eyes turn to us. “Robbie, care to kick things off?”

He clears his throat. “Sure. Let’s start with what we know. Things were stolen from three different guest rooms. My keycard accessed each room around the time the things were taken. And my fingerprints were found on Mr Harrington’s signet ring.

“About the ring, I’ve already admitted to DS Sinclair and PC Muir that I did touch it. I panicked and lied at first—stupid, I know—but I thought the truth would make me look guilty. What happened is this. When I cleared out my locker, the ring . . . just fell out of it. Johnny was there—he can tell you how shocked I was.”

Johnny nods emphatically. “He really was! Besides, if Robbie had put the ring there himself, he wouldn’t have let it clatter to the floor the way it did. No, he’d have quietly slipped it into his pocket. I know my brother, and he was as surprised by the ring as I was.”

Samantha snorts. “Is this why this meeting was called? So Robbie’s own wee brother can swear he’s innocent?” She flips her gaze to Sinclair and Muir. “I’m sure you’ll forgive me for saying he doesn’t exactly scream ‘reliable witness’. And besides, as Robbie himself said, the keycard logs show he went into the rooms.”

“They do,” I agree. “Pretty incriminating, right? Except . . . there’s something we should really clear up. Specifically, the claim that Robbie’s keycard was used to access Ms Laurent’s room on the day her diamond earrings went missing, an allegation he denies. Officers, could one of you please confirm for us all the date and time that Robbie supposedly entered Ms Laurent’s room?”

Muir consults her notes. “Monday the twelfth of August at fourteen fifteen.”

“Thank you. But in that case . . . could someone please explain this?” With a flourish worthy of Sherlock Holmes himself, I produce a letter and hold it out to Muir. “For the benefit of everyone else, could you tell us what this is?”

Puzzled, Muir takes the letter from me. Her confusion only deepens as she scans it. “It’s . . . a speeding ticket. Addressed to Mr MacDonald. There’s a photograph of him here on his motorcycle.”

“And the timestamp?” I prompt.

She blinks. “Fourteen seventeen . . . on Monday the twelfth of August.”

“Just two minutes after he allegedly entered Ms Laurent’s room,” I point out. “And yet here he is, nine miles away from the resort. Meaning it couldn’t possibly have been Robbie who went into Ms Laurent’s room.”

Sinclair walks over and grabs a hold of the letter. “Let me have a look at that.” A moment later, he lets out a low whistle. “Bloody hell.”

“I went to pick up some washers for a repair,” Robbie explains. “Fairly routine. I didn’t remember it until Cat noticed the time on the speeding ticket was too close to the time on the keycard records.”

The room falls silent as the implications sink in. Sinclair studies the letter more carefully.

“I’ll need to verify this,” he says, “but if it’s legitimate . . .”

“It is,” I assure him. “And it proves someone else used Robbie’s keycard—or made it appear that way in the system. Someone who knew his routines, who had access to the resort’s security system, and who had a motive to frame him.”

Samantha shifts in her seat, a bead of sweat visible at her temple despite the room’s air conditioning.

“Someone with financial problems, perhaps?” I suggest. “Someone who recently received final notices on several bills? Someone who, despite these money troubles, still bought a nine-hundred-pound handbag last month?”