At Fettes, Claverhouse and Colquhoun were already waiting. Rebus handed over the note and photo.

‘As I said, Inspector,’ Colquhoun stated, ‘addresses.’

‘Ask her what they mean,’ Claverhouse demanded. They were in the same room as before. Candice knew her place, and was already seated, her arms still folded, showing cream-coloured bandages and pink plasters. Colquhoun asked, but it was as though he’d ceased to exist. Candice stared at the wall in front of her, unblinking, her only motion a slight rocking to and fro.

‘Ask her again,’ Claverhouse said. But Rebus interrupted before Colquhoun could start.

‘Ask her if people she knows live there, people who are important to her.’

As Colquhoun formed the question, the rocking grew slightly in intensity. There were fresh tears in her eyes.

‘Her mother and father? Brothers and sisters?’

Colquhoun translated. Candice tried to stop her mouth trembling.

‘Maybe she left a kid behind ...’

As Colquhoun asked, Candice flew from her chair, shouting and screaming. Ormiston tried to grab her, but she kicked out at him. When she’d calmed, she subsided in a corner of the room, arms over her head.

‘She’s not going to tell us anything,’ Colquhoun translated. ‘She was stupid to believe us. She just wants to go now. There’s nothing she can help us with.’

Rebus and Claverhouse shared a look.

‘We can’t hold her, John, not if she wants to leave. It’s been dodgy enough keeping her away from a lawyer. Once she starts asking to go ...’

He shrugged.

‘Come on, man,’ Rebus hissed, ‘she’s shit-scared, and with good reason. And now you’ve got all you’re going to get out of her, you’re just going to hand her back to Telford?’

‘Look, it’s not a question of -’

‘He’ll kill her, you know he will.’

‘If he was going to kill her, she’d be dead.’ Claverhouse paused. ‘He’s cleverer than that. He knows damned well all he had to do was give her a fright. He knows her. It sticks in my craw, too, but what can we do?’

‘Just keep her a few days, see if we can’t ...’

‘Can’t what? You want to hand her over to Immigration?’

‘It’s an idea. Get her the hell away from here.’

Claverhouse pondered this, then turned to Colquhoun. ‘Ask her if she wants to go back to Sarajevo.’

Colquhoun asked. She slurred some answer, choking back tears.

‘She says if she goes back, they’ll kill everyone.’

Silence in the room. They were all looking at her. Four men, men with jobs, family ties, men with lives of their own. In the scheme of things, they seldom realised how well off they were. And now they realised something else: how helpless they were.

‘Tell her,’ Claverhouse said quietly, ‘she’s free to walk out of here at any time, if that’s what she really wants. If she stays, we’ll do our damnedest to help her ...’

So Colquhoun spoke to her, and she listened, and when he’d finished she pushed herself back on to her feet and looked at them. Then she wiped her nose on her bandages, pushed the hair out of her eyes, and walked to the door.