McNab nodded. That was good enough for him. ‘So how or why did she have Ms Richardson’s handbag, wallet and cards?’ It was a question he didn’t expect an answer to and Ollie didn’t give him one. ‘How’s the mobile doing?’

‘Remotely wiped and set to factory settings before it was found.’ Ollie looked a little guilty, as though that was his fault – or perhaps his guilt was the result of having eaten the doughnut.

‘Okay, let’s move on to Go Wild,’ McNab suggested.

‘I’ve been following up shell companies that may be linked to Go Wild. Remember the Scottish Limited Partnership registered here in Glasgow that was used to transfer £160 million out of Russia last year?’

‘You think Go Wild involves Russian money?’ McNab said.

‘Not just Russian. American, European and British too.’

‘So how does it work?’ McNab said.

‘You outline your Go Wild fantasy and they supply it at a cost. The important thing is they promise no comeback for whatever you choose to do.’

‘That could account for what happened at the fire death and the ghost ship,’ McNab said. ‘Which reminds me. Who’s dealing with the computer equipment from the Orlova?’

Ollie wasn’t sure.

‘Find out what’s on that equipment. We’re all in this together now.’

‘Will do,’ Ollie said.

‘Now, the bloke who tried to destroy my good looks,’ McNab said. ‘Known as the posh fucker. Arrived in a limo with darkened windows. Had a couple of minders.’ His mind flashed back to their arms pinning him as the fucker got stuck in. Then the different face swimming above him, urging that they leave.

‘He’s a felon?’

If he was they might find him in a database.

‘I think more like a member of the county set,’ McNab said, realizing how impossible that made it. Little wonder no one had been allowed to take photos.

As he rose to leave, Ollie said, ‘There’s one other thing you should know. We’re not the only ones digging into Go Wild on the dark web.’

McNab immediately expected Ollie to mention the Met. He didn’t.

‘An investigative journalist . . .’

‘Ava Clouston,’ McNab finished for him.

‘She’s covering her tracks well, but maybe not well enough,’ Ollie said.

30

It was already approaching dusk as Ava watched the cow being loaded onto the truck and driven away. Mother and child butchered in the space of a couple of days. What the hell was going on?

A squally wind tugged at her hair, covering her face again. She’d forgotten how irritating the combination of long hair and an Orkney wind was and vowed to have it cut soon, and as short as possible.

A grey Scapa Flow seethed with the moving tide and gusting wind, the MV Orlova rising and falling in its wake. Like a curse on the landscape, Ava thought.