She watched them from the window until they reached the byre, then extracted Mark’s memory stick from the place she’d hidden it and sat down at her laptop. Mark’s death had changed things. His material, together with what she had discovered, was further topped by the existence of a witness.

Who could she trust with the story now?

David had always backed her and Mark up before, even in difficult circumstances. But Go Wild had identifiable links with central government and the upper echelons of British society. And not only the UK government. Mark had evidence linking Go Wild with both Russia and the USA, and a number of European countries too.

Rich and powerful people who believed they were above and beyond the law. Who owned and managed the system. Who both ran and controlled the press.

Could . . . should she send it to David or would he believe it to be too hot to handle, especially in view of Mark’s death?

Mark’s voice came back to her at that point, urging her to do what was right. What was necessary.

In the past, she would have agreed with him, relished the challenge, maybe even the danger. She also knew that in the last year alone, at least twenty-five journalists around the world had been murdered for exposing stories like this one. Mark had just been added to that list.

Her mind made up, Ava brought up David’s number – or thought she did. Too quick. The last few numbers she’d contacted were on the screen and she’d pressed too quickly before realizing the highlighted number was actually McNab’s.

She expected it to ring out unanswered, as before, but waited just in case. Then a man’s voice answered.

‘Yes?’

‘DS McNab?’ she said, surprised and delighted. ‘It’s Ava Clouston here.’

‘Yes?’ the voice said, again.

Fear came crashing in to swamp the joy, because the voice, she realized, wasn’t McNab’s at all. Ava cut the call and threw the mobile on the table.

She’d given her name to whoever had McNab’s phone. If they were searching for her whereabouts, it would be easy enough to locate her now.

58

Dr Sissons had been reserved, even reticent; Dr Walker even more subdued than usual. Rhona knew why. No DS McNab to walk through those doors, usually late, to be harangued in Sissons’s inimitable fashion.

McNab wasn’t there. Couldn’t be there. Because he was missing in the line of duty. At times like these, the team was a squadron with a missing member.

Even Sissons, with all his faults, was aware of that.

The autopsy on the beach body went as planned. The young male had entered the water still alive, but probably barely so, his throat having been cut. He had nevertheless tried to breathe and got some seawater into his lungs rather than air.