Ava’s heart was bumping so loudly, she thought the armed duo now en route past the cafe must be able to hear it.

‘How long do we sit here and wait?’ she said.

Firash, his face drawn, indicated he didn’t know. At that moment his phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he nodded to Ava and mouthed ‘Jenny’ before answering.

The interchange was brief and, by the look on Firash’s face, positive.

‘He’s been moved, Jenny says. She’s not sure where, but he left a message for her with the ward sister. It’s the phone number we can reach him on.’

‘What if it’s a trap?’ Ava said.

‘Why would he want to harm the man who rescued him?’ Firash said.

Ava had been in too many situations where people were playing multiple sides. Sometimes they survived; sometimes, like Mark, they didn’t.

‘What do you want to do?’ he said, studying her expression.

‘We’ll call from my burner phone,’ she said. ‘You’ll open the conversation then hand the phone to me.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Would you recognize his voice?’

‘He was barely conscious by the time we got there, so no, I wouldn’t.’

If McNab had been here, it would have been easy. Maybe it was time to call him? No, she thought, I’m not ready for that yet.

‘Is there a question you could ask that only he would know the answer to?’ she said.

Firash considered this. ‘I know what McNab did to save his life. And since there was only the two of them there at that point . . .’

Once out of the hospital grounds, Firash chose a spot and drew the car over.

‘Okay?’ he said.

When Ava nodded, he accepted her phone and dialled the number, switching it to speaker.

The phone rang three times before a male voice answered, ‘Yes?’, without giving a name.

Ava nodded to Firash to ask the question they’d agreed on.

There was a short silence before the voice responded. ‘I assume I’m talking to Firash, one of the men who rescued me. The answer to your question is that McNab plugged the hole in my stomach with his rolled-up shirt and fastened his belt around me. That’s the reason I stayed alive long enough for you to get me to a hospital.’

As he spoke these words, Ava felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Taking the mobile, she said, ‘Mark Sylvester had a meeting with you the night he was murdered.’

‘Not me,’ the voice said.

‘It’s in his diary.’

Silence, then, ‘He wasn’t meeting me. Whoever arranged it must have said it was.’

‘Then that person killed him.’

‘Very probably,’ he said, his tone serious. ‘How was this meeting arranged?’

Firash shook his head at Ava, indicating he didn’t know.