Alex Gray was born and educated in Glasgow and is the author of the bestselling William Lorimer series. After studying English and Philosophy at the University of Strathclyde, she worked as a visiting officer for the DHSS, a time she looks upon as postgraduate education since it proved a rich source of character studies. She then trained as a secondary school teacher of English. Alex began writing professionally in 1993 and had immediate success with short stories, articles and commissions for BBC radio programmes.

  A regular on Scottish bestseller lists, she has been awarded the Scottish Association of Writers’ Constable and Pitlochry trophies for her crime writing. She is also the co-founder of the international Scottish crime writing festival, Bloody Scotland, which had its inaugural year in 2012.

  ALSO BY ALEX GRAY

  Never Somewhere Else

  A Small Weeping

  Shadows of Sounds

  The Riverman

  Pitch Black

  Glasgow Kiss

  Five Ways to Kill a Man

  Sleep Like the Dead

  A Pound of Flesh

  The Swedish Girl

  The Bird That Did Not Sing

  Keep the Midnight Out

  The Darkest Goodbye

  Still Dark

  Only the Dead Can Tell

  The Stalker

  When Shadows Fall

  Ebook only

  The Bank Job

  Copyright

  Published by Sphere

  ISBN: 978-0-7515-7999-4

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Alex Gray 2021

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Lyrics to ‘Yesterday’ written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney, © Sony/ATV Music Publishing.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Sphere

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Alex Gray

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Acknowledgements

  This book is dedicated to Donnie, with love.

  With all its sham, drudgery and broken

  dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

  MAX EHRMANN

  Out of the south comes the storm,

  And out of the north the cold.

  Job 37:9

  New American Standard Bible

  PROLOGUE

  The skyline was seared with an orange glow against the inky darkness of night. That meant one thing and one thing only.

  Fire.

  Here in Zimbabwe the sun dropped like a stone each night, leaving no strange afterglow, and so, as he drove towards home, Daniel knew for certain what it was that he could see.

  He pressed his foot to the pedal, eyes fixed on the dusty road ahead, a sudden prayer that it would not be his house lighting up the night sky.

  Yet a sick feeling in his stomach told him that he had the worst to fear. After all, hadn’t he been warned time and time again what would happen if he didn’t do their bidding?

  House after house passed him by, the suburban outskirts of Harare giving way to fewer dwellings, most of those now shuttered against the night. They’d chosen a plot close to the district of Marlborough after his last promotion, their house a loving statement of Daniel’s need to provide for his little family.

  Dear God, don’t let it be ours, don’t let it …

  A cloud of pale smoke appeared as he rounded the final corner, blotting out his prayer.

  Then he gazed into the inferno beyond.

  Daniel pulled on the handbrake and leapt from the car.

  ‘Chipo! Johannes!’ he screamed, rushing up the narrow lane that separated the road from his home. The sound of the fire was like some fury from hell roaring curses, fingers of flame clawing towards the night sky.

  Where were they? Not still inside … ?

  He was vaguely aware of figures running towards him, dark shapes bent against the scorching heat, scarves across their faces.

  ‘Chipo!’ His voice faltered as he began to cough, smoke filling his nostrils, the intense heat driving him back a step, arm across his mouth, eyes blinded by flakes of ash.

  Daniel stopped moving as a deep rumble roared within the heart of the fire, followed by a sudden booming noise. He watched in disbelief as the roof disappeared into the maw of this devouring beast.

  Voices were shouting his name, then he felt arms pulling him back as the heat intensified, the crash of falling masonry drowning out their words.

  Daniel struggled against the men holding him, sobbing. He wanted to run headlong towards the place where his front door had once stood, now a sheet of furious yellow flame barring his way.

  ‘It’s too late, Daniel,’ he heard a voice say.

  ‘No,’ he cried, turning to see who had spoken and recognising for the first time Joseph, his friend and neighbour. The man’s dark curls were thick with white ash, his eyes red-rimmed.

  ‘We did everything … ’ Joseph shook his head, the small gesture telling Daniel that the nightmare he had feared had come to pass. Then he put a protective arm around Daniel’s shoulders, turning him away from the blaze and pulling him back down the lane.

  ‘You must leave, before they come for you too,’ Joseph said urgently.

  ‘But—’

  ‘The pastor is waiting,’ Joseph told him. ‘We knew this was coming, Daniel. We saw who it was that did this … ’ The old man turned his grizzled head back towards the burning building. ‘Need to get you away. Now.’

  Then other hands were on his shoulders, pushing Daniel down the slope towards a jeep, its headlights facing the narrow dirt road. He was scarcely aware of the men who shoved him into the passenger seat or of the bag being pushed onto his lap.

  Daniel wanted to cry out loud the questions pounding inside his head.

  Why had his prayer not been answered?

  Why were they gone?

  And, how could he ever believe in a loving God after this night?

  He twisted desperately in his seat only to see the flames reaching out, greedily licking the treetops next to his home before the jeep accelerated into the night.

  It was an image that would haunt Daniel Kohi’s dreams for a long time to come.

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was cold. The sort of cold that crept into his bones as if to remind him that this was an alien landscape more suited to the pale-faced people scurrying by. He stood for a few moments, suitcase on the shiny marble floor, blinking as if he had just awoken from a long sleep. Above him the glass roof, criss-crossed by metal beams, exposed the icy skies.

  This was it, then. Glasgow. The city notorious for its knife crime in the past, but also boasting its other accolades: City of Culture, host of the Commonwealth Games and where Nelson Mandela Place nestled at its heart. Even these thoughts failed to warm him as he hesitated, looking around the station concourse. Daniel had already zipped up his fleece-lined jacket against the chill but nothing seemed to stop him shivering as he regarded the exit to a grey street with tall stone buildings. It was so different … He bit his lip, trying to stop the perpetual thoughts of what he had left behind. Comparing the past with this present life was a useless exercise, doomed to pull him down once more into the black despair that had almost claimed him.

  It will be a good place for you to settle, they’d told him, encour
aging smiles meant to raise his spirits as he’d said his goodbyes at that other railway station. Folk are known for being friendly, one had added, and Daniel hoped that this was true. The journey itself had passed without incident, his fellow passengers all absorbed by whatever they were seeing on their phones or tablets, several of them listening to unheard melodies of their choice, none of them even giving Daniel a curious glance. Was that good? He’d thought so at the time, convincing himself that his appearance was nothing out of the ordinary. There was an Asian family along the corridor, the children noisy and clamouring for attention, parents and elderly family members indulging their every whim. Nobody stared at the solitary black man seated by the window, staring out at the landscape as the train sped north, taking him ever further from the place he had once called home.

  He had gazed out of the window as the train slowed down, looking for clues that might inform him a little more about this city. At first it seemed the usual urban mish-mash of old and modern architecture, glass and steel structures jostling for space with towers and spires from the past. On the gable end of one building a giant pink poster proclaimed PEOPLE MAKE GLASGOW, a sign of pride in their city, perhaps, and something that made his lips curve into the ghost of a smile. Perhaps all he’d been told was true after all, he thought, sitting back as the carriage window was battered by a squally burst of hail.

  *

  The stream of passengers slowed to pass through the ticket barrier then fanned out. He saw a tall man with a shoulder bag stooping down to be met with hugs from family members, little children squealing with excitement to welcome Daddy home. Daniel swallowed down the rising pain and looked away. He stared instead at the shops curving around the station, their lights brightening the grey concourse and the ubiquitous Christmas tree, dressed exactly as the one in the station from which he had departed hours before, its conformity to a pattern of gold and silver baubles doing nothing to raise his flagging spirits.

  Chilly air swept into the station as his feet took Daniel closer to the moment when he must step out at last into the city streets. For a moment he lingered, the warm familiar smell of coffee laced with the sweetness of vanilla wafting from a nearby café. But it looked too crowded and he had no wish to push and shove his way amongst strangers, burdened as he was with suitcase and rucksack, gifted by his church friends to hold the possessions he’d accepted from different charities.

  Instead he took a deep breath and steeled himself to step out of the relative shelter of Glasgow Central Station into the open air.

  The first thing he noticed as he emerged was a beggar sitting on the kerb, streams of people leaving or entering the concourse apparently oblivious to the man’s presence. Poverty and despair existed everywhere, Daniel thought, gazing down at the bundle of rags huddled close to the station wall. Lank, greasy hair, face tilted upwards to catch the eye of anyone passing by who might fling a coin or two into the plastic cup clutched in a pair of bony hands, lips moving in a continuous mantra that always ended in God bless, have a nice day, words that had long since lost any meaning. What story was here? Was this a fellow sufferer escaping from his own past, reduced to becoming such a wretched specimen?

  A sudden jolt from behind made Daniel start, fists clenched in automatic response.

  ‘Awrightbigman?’

  Daniel took a step back, feeling the stranger’s grip on his arm. His first thought was for his wallet with all its precious papers tucked carefully inside his jacket, impossible for a random pickpocket to steal. But perhaps that hadn’t stopped this person trying his luck on a traveller burdened with a suitcase and a heavy pack?

  It was second nature to stare hard at the man, taking in every detail of his dishevelled appearance. He’d seen that same glazed expression and doped-up smile a thousand times in different streets, different cities. But when this guy held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, his gap-toothed grin almost comical, it was as if he could sense Daniel’s latent authority.

  ‘Naebotherson,’ the junkie said, shaking his head as Daniel made to pass him by.

  The body language told him more than the strange words; there was a sort of obsequious cringing as though this man expected a blow, was used to them, perhaps. But there was also an eagerness to befriend the stranger he’d bumped into by accident. He seemed harmless but whatever he’d uttered was a mystery to the man who had stepped off the train and entered a new country.

  Daniel gave him a brief nod and strode out into the street, wind blowing icy arrows onto his skin, turning umbrellas inside out as pedestrians struggled against the slanting rain, scraps of litter playing chase along the gutters.

  Hitching his backpack securely, he looked left and right, remembering the directions he’d read and reread. Hope Street, that was the one he must cross then follow, an irony not lost on Daniel whose own hopes had died all those long months ago.

  But he would not think about that. Not now. Not when he had a difficult meeting ahead of him. The sigh that escaped him was for the weariness of it all, the perpetual journeys from one place to the next, repeating his tale to some official whose only aim seemed to be to fill in yet more forms and pass him on to another. Once upon a time Daniel had found the choices given by an automated voice so irksome whenever he tried to call someone by telephone. Now he would have gladly spent an hour pressing buttons instead of being sent day after day, week after week to different authorities that might or might not make some decision about his future.

  A police car sat on the kerb, yellow, blue and white, bright colours chosen for their visual impact. He looked at the two officers in the front seats then moved on. There was no need to consult the paper he’d been given with its hand-drawn map; he could visualise it in his mind’s eye right now. Out of the station, turn left then cross the road and head uphill.

  A black figure loomed out of the gloom, making Daniel stop and stare. The breathing apparatus on its face reminded him of pictures from the history books, gas masks protecting humans from those poisonous onslaughts. Someone else’s war, he reminded himself. Someone else’s suffering. However, this was no old soldier, but the representation of a fire fighter, the statue rather squat as though the sculptor had imagined the inhabitants of this city as small men. He shuddered, pushing down the memory of fire. What this strange black memorial was doing there was one of the mysteries that Daniel might solve in the coming weeks, but for now the traffic lights had changed to green and he crossed, dodging the stream of fast-flowing water sluicing the roads.

  As Daniel climbed the sloping street he remembered someone telling him that Glasgow was built on several hills and in his mind he had created a vision of tawny slopes rising above a scattering of houses. Looking ahead, all he could see was a patch of bruised sky obliterated on each side by tall office buildings, no curve of green in sight. Beneath his feet some of the paving stones were crumbling and broken, the persistent rain no doubt a contributing factor. Under the swirling streams he noticed spots of white, discarded gum that had speckled the pavement. Fluorescent orange and yellow graffiti streaked metal bins next to the stone walls of buildings he passed by, words or parts of words that made no sense to Daniel.

  A brightly lit window caught his eye with a word that was only too familiar, and Daniel backtracked, staring at the line of travel brochures displayed: AFRICA. He breathed in sharply. There it was, the dusty background in shades of ochre, a leopard superimposed by some graphic artist. He’d never seen a leopard in the bush, though once he had heard a clawing noise from a compound out in Hwange and the ranger had confirmed that yes, a leopard had visited during the night. No wildlife in this city, at least none that crept on large, silent paws.

  Between the buildings ran narrow cobbled lanes, mossy green in the shadows where sunlight could never penetrate, man-made yellow lines flowing from one end to the other. These lanes dissected the main streets and he caught glimpses of slow-moving traffic running downhill to his right. It was a grid system, he knew, and now he had an inkling of how this city centre might operate. In his past life Daniel had learned all about streets and alleyways, how to navigate them by car or on foot, and he was confident that it would not take long to learn the geography of this place.

  It was as he paused to shift the weight of his suitcase from one hand to the other that he saw it.

  There was no sound, just a movement caught in his peripheral vision, one man stepping out from behind an open door. Nothing unusual about that, except for the large knife clutched in his right fist, a wet stain at its tip that was almost certainly blood.