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Chapters (94)
  1. Cover
  2. Time for the Dead
  3. Dedication page
  4. Map
  5. Epigraph page
  6. Prologue
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. Epilogue
  92. Acknowledgements
  93. About the Author
  94. By Lin Anderson

Back in the office, he located Detective Sergeant Clark and brought her up to date, specifically on Rhona, while strategically avoiding mention of Prince Harry. Unfortunately for McNab, his partner could, it seemed, read him like a book.

‘What about your stab victim?’

‘Recovering.’

‘What happens when they discharge him?’ Janice demanded.

McNab shook his head as though he hadn’t given it a moment’s thought.

‘How long do you think the poor bugger will last on the streets?’ Janice challenged him.

‘Not long,’ McNab admitted, wondering where exactly Janice was going with this.

‘So what’s your plan?’

‘I haven’t got one,’ he tried.

Janice snorted. ‘You always have a plan. Screwed-up or otherwise. As your partner, I demand to know what it is.’

McNab decided to oblige her. ‘I find him a safe place to recuperate.’

‘A hostel is the first place they’d look, if he does know something.’ She halted. ‘Or maybe our Harry was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

‘Then we don’t have to worry about him.’ McNab quickly changed the subject to avoid telling Janice what he really intended doing. ‘I’m off to the post-mortem on the Skye body. The boss knows,’ he added, to make everything legitimate.

‘You’ll miss the strategy meeting,’ she warned.

‘Then you can tell me about it later.’

‘Enjoy your post-mortem,’ Janice called to McNab’s retreating figure.

31

Afghanistan

The stones of my prison tell my story. A vertical scratch for each sunrise, a cross for each visitation. One scratched heart only, for Sugarboy.

He said something to me the night of the sandstorm. Couldn’t remember where he’d heard or read it, but it had stuck with him, just as it does with me.

All the Gods, the Heavens and the Hells are within us.

They came for him as soon as the sand settled. By then he’d left my blue prison and sat shivering in the cold desert air against the far wall. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of thinking he might have done what they’d demanded.

The two who came in for him were unnerved by something, jabbering wildly and seemingly uninterested in either of us. Except that as they dragged Sugarboy away, the younger one looked directly at me and said a word in Pashto I understood. Nurse.

I have seen the women walk by my prison. Indistinguishable one from another, the age and shape made one, under the blue robe. Sometimes they are together in a group, on their way to fetch water.

I know that at the water source, free from male eyes, they will gossip and laugh together. I know this because in one of the villages we’d visited earlier, our commander had repaired their well, only to discover it had been the women who’d damaged it, because they enjoyed their walks together to the river where they could speak freely without the men.