‘He was stabbed to death,’ Lorimer told her. ‘No ID. Nothing that can tell us much about him though we have a lot of feelers out in the right places.’

  ‘Horrible,’ the woman murmured. ‘Wonder if he had been selected as the one to set it off then chickened out?’

  Lorimer clenched his teeth and sighed. ‘My thoughts exactly. Either way, he was fated to die.’

  ‘Professor Brightman is here to see you, sir.’ A smiling officer stood at his door then stepped aside to admit a scruffy-looking man in a worn raincoat.

  Lorimer rose from his place and went towards his friend.

  ‘Goodness, Solly, you fairly look the part. Makes me want to offer you a square meal and a change of clothes.’

  ‘I’ll settle for tea,’ Solly said, taking off the coat and sitting down on one of the more comfortable chairs in the office. ‘Mint tea, if you have it.’

  Lorimer smiled as he bent to open a cupboard containing a couple of tins. One had some of Maggie’s cranberry cookies and the other was stuffed with different sorts of teabags. The kettle in the corner of his room had not long been boiled and soon the two men were sitting side by side, mugs clasped in their hands.

  ‘I liked the look of your chap, Kohi,’ Solly began. ‘He struck me as a courageous sort of man.’ He threw a questioning look at Lorimer.

  ‘I think he is,’ he agreed. ‘And it was his courage and integrity that made him a victim in his own homeland,’ he added sadly.

  ‘Perhaps he will tell me about that one day,’ Solly said. ‘But I do not wish to pry.’

  ‘Did you manage to sit close enough to them?’

  Solly nodded. ‘I did. And here is the result.’ He produced the device that had been hidden under his outer garment and handed it to Lorimer. ‘Some of it will need translation but I can tell you one thing right now.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They’re aiming to carry out their plan on Christmas Eve.’

  David Giles had been spot-on with his assessment of Gerry O’Neill and his collection of luxury cars, Lorimer thought, reading the detective sergeant’s report. Not only was his taupe Jaguar missing from the premises but each of the other vehicles had been thoroughly valeted since the initial visit from the police officers. O’Neill had been smug, Giles had written in a postscript meant only for Lorimer’s eyes, the warrant not making him fearful in any way. On the contrary, he had cooperated with the officers, showing them his classic cars as well as his wife’s sporty Mercedes runaround. The Jaguar was in the garage for a ‘service’, he had told them, but they guessed that was a way of telling them gleefully that it was being deep-cleaned somewhere else and that there would be nothing to find when it was returned.

  O’Neill had something to do with all of this, Lorimer was certain. His association with Burns, the membership at Fereneze Golf Club, it was all too cosy to be a mere coincidence. Members of his team were already hard at work to see just what sort of business O’Neill had handled in his past and, more than that, if it had any link to Bryson’s. He sat back and closed his eyes. What was it Solly had said? Motive. Why had Derek Carter been killed? What had Vincent Burns done to deserve such a sudden death? And who was this beautiful creature who was a link to them both? Perhaps he ought to go once more and visit the old lady whose cottage stood opposite Burns’s grand villa.

  ‘Grace Kelly! You are right, Superintendent. That was who she reminded me of, but after looking at all of your pictures, my mind was quite jumbled up,’ Alicia Milroy declared.

  ‘Can you remember what she wore?’

  The old lady sat and pondered his question for a few moments. ‘I saw her in his car most often, sitting in the passenger seat. The car would turn out of his drive and pass by my window, so I had a clear view of her.’ Her eyes clouded for a moment. ‘She sometimes wore a long scarf over her head, I remember. Not a headsquare like the Queen wears, more the sort you can wind over your hair and around your neck,’ she said, gesturing with her hands as if to show him. ‘Grey silk, the sort of thing that makes you think of that particular era, you know? The Grace Kelly years. Though I never saw her smile. I think she would have been far prettier if she had. Always a serious look on that lovely face,’ she told him.

  Alicia Milroy glanced up at him, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘Has she done something wrong?’

  Lorimer shook his head. ‘Not for me to say, I’m afraid. The lady is someone we would like to find, however. So, if you should happen to see her again, do let us know.’

  ‘Do you think she would come back? Now that poor Vince is dead?’

  ‘No, I don’t. But a sharp pair of eyes like yours will be very helpful just in case she does.’

  David Mearns rose from behind the chief constable’s desk and stretched out a welcoming hand.

  ‘Good to see you, Lorimer. Now, what is it you wanted to discuss with us?’ he asked, waving a hand across at Caroline Flint.

  Lorimer looked at the man and woman in turn, relieved to be able to share some news with them both. Mearns was seated once more, his desk top neat and tidy with a three-tier tray of documents and his laptop closed in front of him. There were no personal touches like photographs, but then he was really just passing through Police Scotland, Lorimer mused, wondering not for the first time about the personal life of this fine-looking man who was currently in charge.

  ‘I hope it’s something that will help resolve this matter,’ he began with a serious look at Lorimer.

  ‘I hope so, too,’ Lorimer replied. ‘More intelligence has come up since we last spoke.’ He chose his words carefully. It would not do to reveal that he was using civilians to help this case along, but William Lorimer was a man to whom telling the truth was second nature and it went against the grain to deceive his colleagues.

  ‘Looks like Christmas Eve is the date planned for the attack and we are focusing on George Square, particularly the area around the Nativity scene.’

  ‘Dear lord, that’s just days away,’ Mearns declared.

  ‘Security alerted?’ Flint asked, getting down to the practicalities they needed to discuss.

  ‘Yes,’ Lorimer said. ‘There ought to be enough bodies on the ground to oversee the crowds. And security checks will be made throughout the day.’

  ‘Won’t that put them off?’ Mearns asked. ‘Seeing such stringent measures?’

  ‘They might just decide on a different place to carry out their plan,’ Flint agreed.

  ‘That’s a chance we have to take,’ Lorimer said. ‘Until we have a better idea of the exact time this device is to be exploded then we have to make the safety of the public of paramount importance.’

  ‘And, you think you might find out when they intend to set this in motion?’

  Lorimer nodded. ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Well, there isn’t a lot of time left till Christmas Eve,’ Caroline Flint said, pointing towards a calendar hanging on the wall. ‘And David had hoped to be away from here on the twenty-third, isn’t that right?’

  Mearns nodded, frowning. ‘Sooner we get this sorted the better,’ he said. ‘And not just for my own personal convenience, you understand. I want to leave here with these perpetrators under lock and key. It’s a horrible business. If they have their way, it’ll be like Manchester Arena all over again.’

  ‘All those children … ’ Flint said sorrowfully.

  Lorimer said no more as the three officers contemplated the sort of carnage that could ensue in the centre of Glasgow.

  ‘We do know that there is no female officer currently employed with Police Scotland that fits the description of the woman we’re after and that includes DS Maxwell,’ Lorimer told them.

  ‘That’s a piece of good news at any rate,’ Mearns agreed. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about that one of our own could be involved in something like this.’

  ‘We are also investigating the death of a young Asian lad, possibly one of the same gang.’

  ‘Oh?’ Mearns looked up, interested.

  ‘Here.’ Lorimer fished in his briefcase and took out the images that Rosie had sent him. ‘We think the faint bruising around his chest area may have been caused by a bomb vest strapped around him.’

  Mearns gave a soft whistle. ‘Good work,’ he said. ‘And what about the O’Neill fellow? Any joy there or is he just someone that happened to play golf with Burns?’

  ‘He was pretty adamant that we weren’t going to examine his cars,’ Lorimer reminded them. ‘And he’s had the lot sanitised since our visit. Nothing to see but surely something to hide.’

  ‘And, his background?’

  ‘Still working on that, sir, but he was in the Middle East on different occasions in the past. Oil-related business, or so we are led to believe. But he may have had connections with some groups that are of interest to the security services.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Mearns raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, if O’Neill is part of this outfit, I’ll bet it’s the money behind it.’

  ‘What would he get out of it, though? Funding a terrorist organisation that was hell-bent on blowing a hole in his own city?’ Flint demanded.

  Motivation, again, Lorimer realised. The why behind a planned attack was surely something that they needed to discover before it was too late.

  ‘I’ll let you both know as soon as any further intelligence appears,’ Lorimer promised, rising from his chair.

  ‘How’s that nice wife of yours?’ Caroline Flint asked as she walked with Lorimer to the entrance.

  ‘Still off school. Doctor is seeing her later today, I think. We asked for a home visit, given the circumstances.’

  ‘Well, tell her I’m asking for her, won’t you? Wives like Maggie are rather special.’

  When the doorbell rang, Maggie made to rise from her chair, but Molly Newton was there before her.

  ‘Oh, hello. Dr Schmautz?’

  An auburn-haired woman breezed into the living room and gave Maggie a peck on her cheek.

  ‘How’s my favourite patient today?’ she beamed.

  ‘Annett, thanks so much for coming over. Hope it isn’t too much trouble?’ Maggie asked, then, turning to the detective sergeant, ‘Molly, this is my good friend, Dr Annett Schmautz. Annett, DS Molly Newton who has been looking after me.’

  ‘Well, you needed some looking after, lady,’ Annett told her, sitting by Maggie’s side on the settee. ‘I’ll have a look at your wrist in a minute but, tell me, have you still been getting the back pain you told me about?’

  ‘Not such a lot since I’ve been off school,’ Maggie admitted. ‘Probably helps not lugging great loads of books about.’

  ‘Yes,’ the doctor mused. ‘Our kids have these Chromebooks now; technology means far fewer things to carry back and forward to their classes.’

  ‘Still to catch up with that at Muirpark Secondary,’ Maggie told her.

  The doctor proceeded to give Maggie a thorough examination then nodded cheerfully.

  ‘You’re right about your back. Though it would do no harm to see a good osteopath. Here,’ she scribbled a number on the back of a prescription pad, ‘this lady will see you all right. I can promise you’ll feel the benefit once she’s had a go at your back.’

  ‘Sounds painful,’ Maggie said doubtfully.

  Annett shook her head. ‘Not at all. I’ve visited her myself on occasion and can assure you she has magical fingers. Anyway, this is nice,’ she said, turning to the kitchen area where little golden stars were strewn on loops from the lights. ‘I love Christmas, don’t you?’

  ‘Usually.’ Maggie made a face. ‘This year I’m going to miss all the things at school. Bill has me virtually locked up here in case someone tries to thump me again.’

  ‘That won’t happen, surely?’ Annett looked at Molly for confirmation.

  ‘Certainly not while I’m here,’ she promised.

  ‘He won’t let you out at all? But what about Christmas Eve? I thought we were all going into town to see the lights and join the carol singing in the square?’

  ‘Golly, I’d almost forgotten about that,’ Maggie admitted. ‘And your kids love the German Christmas market, don’t they?’

  ‘Part of our heritage.’ Annett smiled. ‘Can’t you persuade Bill to let you come with us? Matt and the kids are so looking forward to this.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Maggie turned to ask the detective sergeant. ‘After all, if I’m with my own GP, surely I’ll be safe enough?’

  Molly Newton merely shrugged. The days here had been fine to begin with but now she was chafing to get back to some proper work, things she’d been trained to do, not come across the city day after day to keep her boss’s wife company. There was no need to tail the Maxwell woman, either, Lorimer now convinced that she was beyond suspicion. Maybe it was time to return to Helen Street full time, and she’d suggest as much to Lorimer, Molly thought.

  Daniel allowed himself to be led away from the square with its bright lights and noise then through a maze of streets that became narrower as they walked towards the river. It was a part of the city Daniel had not yet explored and his eyes soaked in the old tenement buildings, rows of small shops at ground level, each one decked with gaudy decorations of green and red tinsel, brash Christmas music floating out into the streets. They turned past a pub on the corner, the smell of greasy food making Daniel wrinkle his nose. Then he was being led past what looked like abandoned warehouses, some frontages hidden behind metal shutters, a few with TO LET notices pasted across their doors.

  To their right was the River Clyde, its waters sludge-grey, reflecting the sombre sky above, a suspension bridge spanning its banks. He could see figures hurrying across, their dark shapes heading for the city. Daniel shivered, a feeling of dread stealing over him as they left the crowded streets behind, few pedestrians passing them by. Where was he being taken?

  Qasim had said little but his determined expression showed Daniel that there was something significant to be found at the end of this journey.

  Once, he caught sight of a mosque, its glass-panelled dome shining beneath a weak winter sun. Qasim followed his gaze and nodded.

  ‘Glasgow Central Mosque,’ he said. ‘You have been there?’

  Daniel shook his head. He had to remain in character as a godless atheist with no affiliation to any of the creeds. ‘Your place of worship?’ he asked diffidently.

  Qasim nodded gravely. ‘We will go there together when it is all over,’ he said firmly. ‘You will become a different man when you help us defeat the forces of evil.’

  Daniel avoided his stare and continued to look across at the glass and metal structure. It had been his attempt to defeat the forces of evil that had destroyed his family, and all hopes for his future. Perhaps Qasim noted the bleak expression on his companion’s face, as he touched Daniel’s shoulder lightly.

  ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We are almost there.’

  *

  A cobbled lane shadowed on either side by grey stone buildings led them to a series of lock-ups with huge wooden doors set on metal rails, some with the faded names of businesses on the front.

  Qasim stopped in front of one that was bolted and shuttered, reminding Daniel for a moment of the back entrance to Bryson’s.

  The Syrian produced a key from his pocket and inserted it into the heavy padlock that held the hasp across a metal plate. Then, with a strength that surprised Daniel, the older man heaved the big door aside on its runners, revealing a dark space within.

  ‘Follow me,’ Qasim said, gesturing for Daniel to hurry inside. The door was pushed shut once more and Daniel stood blinking through the gloom until Qasim switched on a light. Ahead of them there were pieces of discarded machinery shoved to one side, the stone floor stained with old marks that might have been motor oil. Certainly, the place was big enough to house a lorry, Daniel realised, wondering if there had been such a vehicle secreted away here at one time.

  There was another door, a smaller one, set against the back wall and Qasim headed straight towards it, another key ready to unlock whatever was behind it.

  As the man opened the door Daniel could hear a voice singing, a thin piping tune. Was there someone actually living in this squalid place? Or was he hearing music from outside?

  To his astonishment, a young boy of about thirteen leapt to his feet and, grasping Qasim around the waist, uttered a torrent of words that Daniel could not understand but that sounded as if they might be Arabic. He spoke Qasim’s name and from the boy’s questioning intonation Daniel heard another person’s name: Shararah. It was the boy’s expression, however, that made him stop and stare. His dark brown eyes were shining as he clutched the old man’s sleeves and then he turned and stared at Daniel.

  Whatever he was asking, it seemed to be a question and Daniel guessed that he was wondering who the stranger was that Qasim had brought to his den. For that was exactly what it looked like. There was a sofa covered in bright cloths, Indian cotton with mirrored shards inset in intricate patterns, a couple of thick quilts that seemed to suffice for a bed and in one corner a refrigerator and an opened carton beside it with packets of crisps and sweets.

  His eyes travelled across the room and caught sight of a second door, slightly ajar, but the whiff of disinfectant was enough to make him see that at least the boy had toilet facilities. A prisoner? That had been Daniel’s first thought but seeing the lad beaming up at them both, he was rapidly changing his mind. Besides, there was nothing malnourished about this youngster; in fact, he looked both healthy and content.

  ‘This is Abdul Qahhar,’ Qasim said at last, turning to Daniel. ‘Abdul, this is Daniel. He will be our friend,’ he said, then spoke what Daniel assumed were the same words in the boy’s own language.

  ‘Abdul is our prize, our hope,’ Qasim told him. ‘It will be our job to look after him until he commits himself to his quest.’

  Daniel reached out to take the boy’s hand, but the youngster pulled back a little and gave a deep bow instead.

  It took all of his nerve not to lash out and strike the old man, grab the boy’s hand and flee from this place. But his orders were to follow the woman’s instructions until such time as the police could locate her.