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‘The police will get around to me,’ he says. ‘I’ll tell them everything.’
‘You’ll go to prison.’
‘Most likely, but I should have said something before now.’
He looks at me. ‘You’re the girl they found all those years ago in that house in London – the one they called Angel Face.’
‘How do you know that?’ asks Cyrus.
Murdoch scratches his cheek. ‘Worked it out. Everybody was talking about the little girl they found hiding in the walls. She didnae have a name or a past. Then I saw a photograph and I knew who you were. I always hoped someone would come forward to claim you – an aunt or an uncle; you must have had some family.’
I don’t answer.
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ asks Cyrus.
‘That would have meant confessing. I had a family and I knew what would happen to anyone who broke ranks.’
‘You were frightened of Angus Radford.’
‘I was frightened of the people he worked for.’
‘And who were they?’
Murdoch drops his gaze to his work boots.
‘Is Simon Buchan one of the people you’re afraid of?’ asks Cyrus.
Murdoch presses his lips together and sighs. ‘I only met him once – years ago. He had a handshake that made me want to wring my fingers out or to count them.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘At Glengowrie Lodge. Angus was delivering some people to him.’
‘Migrants?’
‘Most of ’em. Yeah.’
‘Men or women?’
‘Both. Mr Buchan was angry about us using the main gate. He told Angus to use the goods entrance next time. That’s what we were – deliverymen.’
‘What about Lord David Buchan?’ asks Cyrus.
‘Met him once or twice. He didnae spend much time at Glengowrie Lodge before his father died. He bought the place from Simon when the inheritance was divided up.’
‘Two women are missing from the small boat that sank off Cleethorpes. Do you have any idea where they might be?’ asks Cyrus.
‘No.’
Cyrus looks at me. I shake my head. Up until that moment, Murdoch has been telling the truth, but now he’s lied to us.
‘I’ll ask you again,’ says Cyrus. ‘Do you have any idea where the women might be?’
There is a beat of silence. Murdoch clears his throat.
‘I don’t know for certain. But there’s a place outside of Leeds. An old convent. Grade II listed. Victorian. Someone turned it into a boarding house for farm workers, but then it became some sort of halfway house for migrants. Women mainly.’
‘What’s the address?’
