Free Blood Whispers by John Gordon Sinclair Page B

shop, just walk out front and order a cab to wherever you want to go. You booked into a hotel?’
    ‘For the first few nights.’
    ‘I’ll get you a mobile’s got the latest triple-layer encryption so it’s safe to call us if you need anything else. The only other people got your number are the CIA. You’re playing with the big boys now‚ Engjell. I’ll contact you when we find where they’re keeping the little bitch.’
    ‘You don’t need to. I’ll find her.’
    ‘It’s up to you,’ said Abazi with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘Where is Besnik’s phone?’
    ‘I left it in the car.’
    ‘And don’t hit anyone else but the whore, okay?’
    ‘I understand.’
    ‘We’re juggling enough sticks of dynamite without adding any more. Anything else you need, you got to tell me now, ’cause after today, I’m hoping we won’t be seeing each other anytime soon.’
    ‘Just a glass of water, and the lawyer’s date of birth.’

Ten
    Janica Ahmeti sat in the waiting area of the remand centre of HMP Cornton Vale, cradling a polystyrene cup full of a lukewarm, brown liquid that could have been tea or coffee, but didn’t taste like either. The women-only prison was situated on the outskirts of historical Stirling, ‘Scotland’s oldest town and newest city’.
    Through the plate-glass partition that separated the waiting area from the rest of the remand wing she could see Kaltrina Dervishi’s lawyer standing by a pay phone, with an unlit hand-rolled cigarette dangling from her lips and the receiver clamped between her shoulder and ear while she rummaged in her bag for what Janica presumed would be a lighter. Restrictions in the remand wing were considerably more lax than the rest of the complex and inmates wandered freely up and down the central corridor ignoring the no smoking signs stuck to every wall. It struck Janica that Keira Lynch was the type of person who ignored most signs telling her what to do. She had an easy, laid-back confidence that people responded to: a coolness that wasn’t manufactured. When they’d first been introduced Janica had found herself blushing as they shook hands. Throughout the course of the day she’d tried to analyse her reaction, but finally had to admit she found Keira oddly attractive. If she was wearing make-up it didn’t show: Keira didn’t need it. Her Celtic-ginger hair was naturally wavy: cut in a short, fifties style, with a straight fringe that looked like she’d done it herself. The hair suited her oval-shaped face and gamine features. The colour was in sharp contrast to the pale skin and impenetrable blackness of her eyes, which showed little emotion. Her flat expression gave no clues as to what she might be thinking, which Janica also found curiously attractive. She left the impression that she was concealing something, a secret ‘darker than the devil’s shadow’, as her grandfather used to say.
    Janica closed her eyes and tried not to think about the meeting they’d just had with Kaltrina Dervishi. The girl’s descriptions of sexual abuse and mental cruelty at the hands of Fisnik Abazi and his men had been difficult. It was the calm, ordinariness of the delivery that made her words all the more chilling.
    A tap on her shoulder made her jump.
    Janica opened her eyes and looked up.
    Her face flushed again.
    Keira was standing next to her. ‘Did nobody warn you about the tea?’
    ‘Is that what it is? I’ve been trying to work it out.’
    ‘D’you mind if we take this outside?’ asked Keira, referring to the cigarette in her mouth. ‘I can hardly breathe in here.’
    ‘Only if I can have one too.’
    ‘Tired?’
    ‘Trying to forget,’ replied Janica, getting to her feet.
    ‘I know what you mean: it’s harrowing shit.’
    ‘I hear a lot of bad things in this line of work that I’d rather not have to listen to, but the girl has barely any English. She needs someone to tell her story, even one so terrible.’
    Keira nodded over at a prison officer