‘The other woman in the photograph?’

His question went unanswered. ‘Why?’ she murmured. ‘How?’ He’d never seen her eyes wild like this. ‘The paparazzi. She must have seen the photo of me… of me and you. I guess it was in papers everywhere. Then all the TV coverage.’ She paused. ‘But she’s got my mobile number. What does she want from me?’

He moved close to her. She seemed brittle, a twig on the verge of snapping.

‘Does it connect to whatever you haven’t told me about Kareem?’ he asked gently.

She stayed silent, thinking back to that one time they’d met – the subdued, fragile young woman in Kareem’s thrall. Yes, of course. It had to be. The girl who became the epitome of beauty Sami once beheld. Now she could imagine how he must have been stirred – and terrified. She harked back again to the dinner. A faint memory of passing a scrap of paper with her number on it. Her phones had changed… but her number always stayed the same.

Her moment of reverie was interrupted. ‘Remember,’ said Patrick, ‘all you’ve said is that you once had a dinner conversation with Kareem, purely by coincidence, and that he recognised you.’ He hesitated. ‘You must know the tape suggests you weren’t total strangers.’

They locked eyes. ‘Let me see her first.’

‘I should come with you.’

‘No. This time, I’m going alone.’

Chapter 18

18

‘I’ll drive you there and back,’ said Tariq Shah.

‘Dad, it’s miles,’ replied Sara. ‘You can take me to Clapham Junction.’

‘You shouldn’t be on your own. Not after those men in the car.’

Tariq fiddled with a shortbread biscuit, dunking it in and out of his evening mug of tea, unsure how inquisitive his daughter might allow him to be. ‘What’s the truth of it all, Sara?’

‘Dad, I honestly don’t know. It was probably just a heart attack.’

‘Was he found the way they’re saying? Horrible thing for you to witness. Disgusting.’

‘We can’t always see into the minds and bodies of others.’ She laid a hand on his palm. ‘It will soon calm down. Those men haven’t been back, have they?’

‘Maybe not,’ he said forlornly. ‘But how do we know?’ He jumped up from this seat, as if to deliver a speech to her. ‘I still don’t think you should be travelling alone to all ends of the country interviewing people you’ve never met. How do you know there won’t be an axe-man in the cellar waiting to pounce?’

She laughed, putting her hands on his shoulders. ‘At least you haven’t lost your sense of humour. It’s a sleepy village in Devon, not downtown Kabul.’

‘They may be inbred. You don’t know what these English country bumpkins get up to when the moon is out.’