Rhona stared into the darkness, much-needed sleep eluding her. In her self-imposed solitude she hoped that McNab and Freya were together. In a way she felt Freya held the key to all of this, because she was the only one who truly understood the two worlds they were dealing with.
On the other hand, there was nothing magical about death. She’d met it often enough to know that. If Danny was right, his sister had died because she’d become a threat to men with the power to remove her. But had they done it themselves or paid for it to be done? Had Mark Howitt been chosen as a scapegoat? The man who would be blamed for Leila’s murder? But they’d taken things too far, linking the manner of Leila’s death with her activities as a Witch. So Shannon had become a threat too and had to be disposed of. Danny had claimed both girls’ deaths as his fault, believing he had spooked the Nine by taking the videos.
If he was right, ironically, trying to protect Leila may have resulted in her death.
Giving up on sleep, Rhona rose and went through to the kitchen where the wall clock informed her it was half past midnight. She wished now she’d taken McNab’s advice for once and called Sean. Too late now. Or was it?
She settled for a text. If he was on stage or the club was busy, he wouldn’t hear it anyway. If he responded, she could always change her mind.
In the meantime she made herself a coffee and, bringing through her laptop, logged on to check on possible updates on the R2S software file.
It seemed that the remainder of the DNA samples from the dolls had come back without a match. With Barry having been eliminated as one of the possible nine samples, that meant only one of the Nine was on record, but they weren’t permitted to know who that was, which made Rhona all the more determined to find out.
The DNA from the body in the lane had found a match with the swab she’d taken from Barry Fraser. McNab had been right all along on that one, as had Danny. Which meant – as Danny had pointed out – that he, and to a lesser extent Freya, were the only ones left alive who could be linked to Leila and her practice of Witchcraft.
That thought discomfited Rhona, but she reassured herself that McNab had taken the warning on Freya’s safety seriously, and was with her now.
At that point her mobile screen lit up with Sean’s name.
She let it ring three times before she made up her mind to answer.
‘Have you eaten?’ were Sean’s first words.
Rhona laughed. ‘You always ask me that.’
‘I always have to. Well?’
‘I thought about Italian but instead stopped at the chippie on the way home.’
‘What about company?’
‘I’d welcome some,’ Rhona said honestly.
‘Will I do?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll bring my supper with me. I’m always hungry when I’ve been playing, as well you know.’
‘I remember.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.’
The relief she felt at the prospect of company that didn’t involve work, surprised her. Or maybe McNab’s happy expression as he’d departed the Italian restaurant had inspired her to forsake the lonely menu, however tasty, and head for home.
Hunger pangs had made her stop at the local chippie. There she’d chosen Chrissy’s favourite, a smoked sausage supper. She’d managed the sausage but not the chips. The resultant feeling of hunger unsatisfied made her wonder what Sean would bring with him in the way of food and wine.
Rhona discovered soon enough.
Sean arrived with a covered dish and asked her to put it in the oven for fifteen minutes at 180 degrees.
‘I could microwave quicker,’ she offered.
The look he gave her silenced any other suggestions on that front.
‘A white for you. A red for me.’ He plonked the two bottles on the table. ‘It’s chilled,’ he added, also producing a French stick that smelt hot and very fresh. ‘The new bakery close to my flat. They try and catch the late-night brigade.’
‘Like us,’ she offered.
He set the table, moving about the kitchen as though it were his own. Rhona had no wish to argue. Sean had come when she called, which put them on an even footing as far as she was concerned. He could use her kitchen as he wished.
‘Should be ready now.’ Sean swept the dish from the oven and placed it on the table. Peeling back the foil, he revealed three giant stuffed mushrooms oozing scents that Magnus would have loved.
‘Two for me. One for you. Or if you’re not hungry, three for me.’ Checking her expression, Sean scooped one onto her plate, then offered her bread to dip in the sauce.
They ate in comfortable silence. At moments like this, Rhona wondered why she’d asked Sean to leave, but the truth was, she needed her own place free from emotional involvement and, she suspected, Sean needed the same.
As he served them coffee, Rhona tackled one of the reasons she’d invited him here.
‘Danny Hardy was outside the flat when I came home earlier.’
Sean looked concerned. ‘And?’
‘He told me things about the case, which I’ve duly told McNab,’ Rhona said. ‘However, I need to get a message to Danny from McNab.’
‘This isn’t a police trap to take Danny into custody?’
‘No. Quite the opposite,’ Rhona said.
Sean raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘McNab’s playing off the park again?’
‘You could say that.’
Sean considered her request.
‘Give me the message and I’ll do my best.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Not quite.’
Something had changed between them. The sands on which their relationship had been built had shifted. Imperceptibly perhaps, but Rhona had experienced a sense of it on the previous two occasions Sean had been here.
And she felt it even more strongly now as she lay in his arms.
She thought back to the beginning, when she’d been searching for her son. How Sean had gone to Paris, asking her to go with him, but she’d refused.
She had eventually joined Sean there, when she had found her son, or when he had found her. Stepping off that train in Paris, her joy at seeing Sean had matched the intensity of her emotions at finding Liam. It had been a moment to savour and hold in her heart.
Maybe this was how it could be?
Rhona allowed herself a moment of happiness before she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.