I knew it was the nature of investigations—to feel as if you were stumbling about blindly until you finally hit upon the correct trail. And more often than not you would venture partway down the wrong path at least once before turning back to search again for the right one. It was infuriating and disquieting, and rather like the maze at my brother-in-law’s Highland estate. It was only after you’d reached the heart of the matter that you could look back and feel that you should have known which way to turn, which snapped twig to avoid, what path had been worn before.
