35

The last thing Karen did before she got into bed was to try to reach Rafiq. No reply, again. She wasn’t surprised. He must be consumed with fear. Where there was one assassin, there could easily be two. His opponents had a long reach – someone in the hostel must have had sufficient access to discover who had sprung him. Presumably they’d googled her and found images online of good enough quality to identify her. They’d had the patience to wait for her to appear at Gayfield Square then follow her home. More waiting till she finally led them to Rafiq.

The guilt was tremendous. She’d tried to help, and maybe she had saved his life, but the price was high. And it could get higher still if someone had happened to see the drama playing out on the breakwater. Or even simply passed a dripping Rafiq on his way back to her flat.

And, on a much more trivial level, what was she to do about Hamish? The pressures of COVID had revealed aspects she’d never seen before. She’d always known he was a businessman, but she hadn’t really considered how that might lead to ruthlessness. She’d never had cause to interfere with his businesses in the past; she thought now she had probably engaged in wishful thinking. She’d taken him at face value as a decent man with a reasonable attitude to his staff. Sure, she’d been uncomfortable from time to time when he’d organised some extravagant treat for the pair of them that she’d explicitly not wanted, but she’d thought that was because he wanted to give her pleasure. Now, she had to look at that in a different light. There was, she thought, an element of control in that sort of kindness.

This was the kind of tumult that usually drove her to walk the night streets. But she was almost growing accustomed to the enforced lockdown limitations on that. Her body and her brain were slowly learning that the nightly battle with sleep wasn’t necessary. At first, she’d had a panicky couple of nights but once she’d understood she wasn’t exactly imprisoned, she’d learned to let go. Like the poem in Lara’s novel. Only, it wasn’t love that had come in its wake; it was even more letting go.

When she emerged, freshly showered, just after seven, there was not a trace of Hamish in the flat. He was there on her phone; three missed calls and half a dozen texts she was scrupulously avoiding. He’d clearly not slept on the sofa, defiantly driving back north in spite of being over the limit. Not clever, just exasperating, Karen thought. She called through to Daisy. ‘Coffee’s on, we need to be out of here by half past.’

Daisy appeared in jeans and a dark green roll-neck jumper, dark smudges under her eyes. She yawned a ‘Good morning’ at Karen. ‘Did you get much sleep?’

‘Oddly enough, yes. I closed my eyes and I felt like I’d been unplugged. You?’

Daisy pulled a face. ‘I kept dreaming I was drowning and waking up gasping for breath.’ She reached for a mug of coffee. ‘I guess I’m more sensitive than I thought.’

‘Yeah, well, it was quite a night. By the way, you never did explain to me what you were doing in the thick of it.’

Daisy pinked up. ‘I followed you and the lockdown ninja—’

‘Don’t call him that, it diminishes what he was doing.’

Daisy looked stung. ‘Sorry. I followed you both.’

‘Why?’

She wrapped her hands round her mug and took a sip. ‘I thought you were up to something. And I wanted to know what.’ A quick look up from under her brows. ‘Because I’m a detective,’ she said in a rush. ‘I’m trained to think secrets are dangerous things.’

Karen couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘Bollocks, Daisy. It was nothing to do with training and everything to do with being a nosy wee shite. Just admit it.’

‘Mostly. But there was a bit of me wanted to cover your back in case you fell into bother.’

‘ “Fell into bother”? That’s a new one on me.’

‘There’s a lot of it about,’ Daisy said with an acidic edge. ‘Between you and the Mint.’

Karen shook her head, drained her coffee and put the mug in the dishwasher. ‘Good to know that’s where I sit in your top cop charts. Now get your coat on, we’ve got work to do. First, though, we’ll have to swing by Leith. I need to check up on Rafiq.’

‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, if it’s all the same to you, boss.’ Daisy turned away to grab her coat and bag.

Karen did likewise and said, ‘Heard what, Sarge?’ They shared a wry conspiratorial smile and headed out the door.

Karen took a deep breath and unlocked her flat. The chain wasn’t on and her heart sank. She shut the door behind her. She knew before she spoke that he was gone; there was no mistaking the feel of an empty space. Nevertheless, she called out, ‘Rafiq? It’s Karen.’

Silence. She walked through to the living room. Everything was in its place. On the table, a sheet of A4 lined paper, folded in half, weighted down with her front door key. Karen opened up the note and read,

Dear Karen

I can never thank you for what you have done for me. You and your friends saved my life. But I cannot be responsible for putting you in danger. I must take my leave of you now so you can be safe. Do not worry about me. I will send word when it is possible. Mamnounak.

Rafiq

The words upset her more than she could explain. She felt she’d failed him, and was sad at the thought she would never see him again. She picked up the paper and took it through to her bedroom, where she folded it in half and tucked it in her bedside drawer. Her wardrobe was open, and she saw one of her backpacks was missing. Another note lay on the bed:

I have taken the clothes you bought me, and I have taken a bag so I don’t look so much like a street person. I am sorry for this, I hope you understand.

She walked back through and noticed the door of the washer drier was ajar. Curious, she looked inside. In a crumpled tangle were the terrible clothes Rafiq had arrived in. They weren’t even fit for the charity shop. Karen bundled them up and stuffed them in a plastic bag. She’d bin them on the way out.

She called Miran’s number. When he answered, his voice sounded strained. ‘Karen. Thank you, a thousand times. I think it is better that we don’t talk right now. I want you to know that we have this. Come and have brunch when the lockdown is over and we can share our stories.’

Karen read between the lines and hoped she was right. She wasn’t quite sure why she cared so much about Rafiq’s fate, but she did, and there it was.

And they had to get on. The last thing she wanted was to keep the scene examiners or the search team waiting. Nobody wanted to be hanging around in the wee small rain that soaked to the skin in no time at all. She preferred her technicians not to hate her.

They made it to Barnton with a few minutes to spare. Karen stopped in front of Jason’s car and got out to speak to him. ‘All quiet, boss,’ he said, stifling a yawn. ‘Nobody in or out except the changeover boys.’

‘Thanks, Jason. Any news from the Vic?’

He shook his head. ‘No, nothing. The nurse says she’s a fighter.’

‘Well, we knew that. Away with you and get home now. Any change, let me know.’

Karen had noticed a terrace at the back of the house, sheltered by a glass canopy. She gathered her teams there, making sure they maintained their masked distances. ‘What we’re looking for is anything that connects Ross McEwen to the disappearance of Lara Hardie a year ago. Any mention of her name, any pieces of writing with her byline. Photographs, cards. I want you to work a room each, searching in a grid pattern. I know it’s a big ask, but it’s important. The owner is in residence; I’m going to ask him to stay in the kitchen.’

Then she turned to the scene examiners. ‘I hope you got the message about the drills?’ They nodded, glum.

One of them said, ‘Just what we’ve been longing for.’

‘At least you’re working under cover in the garage. There’s a possibility that the body under the concrete is inside a snowboard bag, but we don’t know that for sure. I’m sorry, it’s going to be a bitch of a job.’

‘We’ll manage,’ the senior examiner said. ‘Come on, people, we’ve got a job to do.’

Karen waited till they’d all moved off, then headed for the kitchen herself. Ross McEwen was sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of printouts in front of him, pencil in his hand. He looked surprisingly well-rested, smart in a ghillie shirt and black trousers. He pursed his lips and threw his pencil down when he saw Karen. ‘How long is this going to take?’

‘I don’t honestly know. We’ll probably be out of the house by close of play, but the garage could be a very different story, depending on what we find buried under the concrete.’

His mouth twisted in a sardonic line. ‘You’re going to have a right riddy if there’s nothing there. If it’s all just a mega wind-up on Jake’s part.’

‘I’ll take my chances. I’d like you to stay in the kitchen while we search. DS Mortimer will be staying here with you. And I’ll be with the search team in the garage. Thank you for your cooperation.’

He looked mutinous, but nodded agreement. ‘I’ll stay here. I can plan out my next murder.’

He wasn’t nearly as entertaining as he thought he was. Karen left Daisy to it and went back outside. The garage was open and the SEs were standing around the inspection pit, masked, gloved and suited up. Karen knew their boss, Shane Brown, from a course she’d attended on body recovery. ‘What’s it looking like, Shane?’ she asked as she approached.

He turned and sucked his breath in over his teeth, like a plumber about to reveal precisely how much of a cowboy the last plumber had been. ‘Hard to say,’ he said. Karen was accustomed to his general level of despondency so she tried not to let it knock the wind from her sails.

‘Tell me the worst.’

‘Well, we don’t know how thick it is. And we don’t know how dense it is. What we’re going to do is drill some investigation holes in the corners. Because if there is a body in there, chances are it’s not going to be rammed into the corners.’

‘Makes sense. And then?’

He shook his head, a pitying smile on his face. ‘I shouldn’t have to tell you, DCI Pirie. That depends on what we find. Did you bring a book with you? We’re going to be a wee while yet.’

Karen walked back to the patio where she’d given her briefing. There were a couple of rigid plastic chairs there that looked far too stylish to have come from the local garden centre. She picked one up, surprised at its weight, and carried it back to the garage. She set it down in a spot where she could watch the crime scene specialists and also keep the driveway in her peripheral vision.

The drills started with all the insistence of a visit to the dentist. What made it worse was that they all kept stopping and starting but not in synch. It seemed to go on forever, and they had no spare ear protectors. Karen could feel a headache starting at the base of her skull. But she needed to be there, to testify to what was revealed. Not for the benefit of the court, who would likely never hear a word about this case. But for the record. For Lara Hardie’s family.

When the drills stopped, Karen’s ears took a few moments to decide it was over. A faint smell of sour decay reached her. She got up in time to see Shane inserting a flexible cable into one of the holes. It had a light and a tiny camera lens on one end; the other was plugged into a USB slot on a laptop. He looked up as she approached. ‘We’re in luck. It looks like a relatively thin skin of concrete.’

‘What’s down there?’ Karen drew closer, answering her own question by studying the screen.

‘Well, there’s definitely something down there. You know how you said there might be a snowboard bag? I think you might be right but it’s hard to be sure because, look’ – he pointed at the screen with a pen. ‘See all this yellowy stuff? I think it’s expanding polystyrene foam. But whoever put it there wasn’t as thorough as they should have been. They’ve not achieved an all-round seal. You can see bits of red fabric where it hasn’t completely covered the bag. So we know now that we can cut the concrete very carefully and remove it. Then we’ll have a better idea what we’re dealing with.’

He stood back and nodded to the colleague he’d left holding the flexible snake. ‘Take it out and let’s look down the other holes to be sure before we start cutting.’ He grinned at Karen. ‘Makes a change. Life in lockdown’s been a wee bittie dull.’

‘I wish I could say the same,’ she sighed. ‘It smells like there’s something more than a snowboard bag down there.’

‘Aye, well . . . concrete’s porous, so there’s going to be aerobic decay. You’re not going to get a nice neat mummified corpse. We’re likely going to need Dr Wilde before we get answers on this one. You might as well away and get yourself a cup of coffee. I bet his nibs in there has got all sorts of magic machines. There’ll be nothing to see here for at least half an hour. Probably longer.’

‘I’ll stick around, if it’s all the same to you, Shane. You know me, I hate to miss the chance to watch experts at work.’ She turned back to her chair but before she could sit down, a car turned in at the gate and headed down the drive. The PC who had been standing guard at the crime scene tape looked at Karen and said, ‘You want me to see who that is?’

‘You bet.’

He broke into a trot as the car reached the turning circle at the head of the drive, Karen on his heels. The Lexus slowed to a halt and the driver emerged. ‘Oh, fuck,’ Karen groaned.