His hope of being served coffee in the interim was destined for failure. Watching the minutes tick by, he was on the point of barging through, as before, when he was summoned to enter the world beyond the curtain.

Reaching the room, he found a man sitting at Mark’s now empty desk. His dark curly hair streaked with grey, he was wearing what McNab presumed was traditional Afghan clothing. Below thick eyebrows, a pair of green eyes silently studied him before he spoke.

‘Detective Sergeant McNab of Police Scotland, I believe?’

Taken aback at being so clearly identified, McNab nodded, then waited for what might come next.

‘My name is Abu-Zar. My friend Mark explained about your role in all of this. I see you have had your own battles to fight in this particular war.’ The man paused there, his expression solemn. ‘You, however, unlike my friend, have survived them.’

At that moment the coffee arrived and McNab was invited to sit down. Eventually the man said, ‘What is it you wish to know?’

‘I’d like to know what happened after I left here.’

The man nodded, then said, ‘Mark received and made a number of phone calls, and worked on his laptop as normal. He then said he was going out to meet someone.’ He paused for a moment. ‘He did not return.’ Collecting himself, he continued. ‘We searched for him, of course. Then we heard that Mark’s body had been pulled from the river. The newspapers have suggested it was suicide, using his time in war zones as a reason.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘Who would believe that a man who spent all those months in Afghanistan in the mountains travelling with the mujahidin would kill himself? I was there with him. Mark was afraid of nothing and no one, intent only on reporting the truth of what he saw.’

McNab was inclined to agree with such a summary, although he had met the man only once. He indicated the cleared desk. ‘I’d like to take a look at his laptop, phone, notes?’

The man shook his head in an apparent apology. ‘That won’t be possible, I’m afraid. The police came and took all of that away.’

McNab swore under his breath. Of course they had. He wondered how long the Met had been watching this place, following everything Mark did. No doubt they’d seen him visit here. Is that why he’d been picked up and interrogated?

There seemed to be no clear blue line between the Met and the people they were supposed to be investigating.

McNab, deflated and defeated, decided it was time to leave.

‘However,’ the man said as McNab got to his feet, ‘Mark gave strict instructions that if anything did happen to him, then this envelope should be given to the Scottish detective.’

McNab accepted the small envelope and, opening it, he looked inside.

‘Thank you,’ he said with a smile.

63