Dorothy pictured Jim and Archie lifting Simon’s body onto the table, putting him in a body bag, sliding him into the fridge, cleaning up the blood. She thought about the young woman, not even safe from predatory men in death. She thought about Rebecca sitting at home all these years waiting for her loving husband to return, to be a father to their daughter, never knowing what he really was. And she thought about Jim’s decision to cover everything up. There would’ve been a murder charge, court case, necrophilia, for Christ’s sake. The Skelfs would’ve been ruined, Archie’s life ruined, Rebecca’s life ruined, Zoe Wilson’s family devastated.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Archie said. ‘You can’t imagine.’

Dorothy felt a chill run through her body, the energy in the air all around them, permeating everything, bringing them here, giving them a decision to make. Eventually she stood up, using her shovel to help her. Archie watched.

She pointed to Simon and Ailsa in the grave.

‘Help me fill this back in,’ she said.

294

57

HANNAH

She strode along the cobbles of The Shore past seafood restaurants and pubs, all closed at this time of night. The Water of Leith was slick black on her left, boats bobbing a little, the slap of low waves bumping against their hulls.

Malmaison was at the bottom of the street, a sturdy old sailors’ mission with a clock tower, fancy plants and standing heaters next to the deserted outdoor tables. She strode past reception and up to the bar, hotel bars were open into the early hours. A couple of businessmen in tailored suits were drinking brandies in a corner, ties loosened, a good deal struck today. A weary young guy behind the bar gave them an evil stare, which he switched to Hannah when he saw her.

‘We’re closed,’ he said. ‘Except for guests.’

He had her pegged as someone who couldn’t afford to stay here. The bar was all black with random red pipes jutting out like an industrial warehouse, and above the barman was a large neon sign that read: ‘Don’t Worry Help Is On The Way’.

Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t want a drink, I was hoping you could help me.’

He perked up a little. He was about her age, tall and thin, a tousle of black hair and a few days of stubble, kind eyes now that he was paying attention. His nametag said ‘Rakim’.

‘What kind of help?’

‘Were you working here two weeks ago?’

‘I’m always working here.’

She got the receipt out of her pocket, checked the date. ‘On Wednesday the seventh?’295

She thought he might check the rota but he just nodded. ‘I do six nights a week, fits in with my studies.’

Hannah got a picture of Mel on her phone and showed him. ‘Did you see her in here?’