Amy smiled at Maryam, trying to hide her shock. The girl looked about thirteen, though was likely to be nearer to twenty. What had happened to her family? Amy knew without having been told that they had fallen victim to one of many possible fates, and that Maryam had reached Scotland alone.
She had the kind of effortless, natural beauty that would make any man turn his head. Her striking green eyes were very round, and her expression serious but calm. Amy recognised it immediately: she was assessing her situation, reading the signs, watching for the first hint of danger. It was the expression of a soldier.
‘Maryam. It’s nice to meet you.’ she said as calmly as she could. She wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate to shake hands, so instead, she motioned to one of the chairs. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to speak to me.’
Maryam glanced at Nessa for reassurance before sitting down.
Nessa sat, and said, ‘Feel free to ask Amy anything you want, love.’
Maryam sat down. ‘Are you from the police?’ She had already acquired a slight Scottish accent.
‘No, I’m not. And I promise you’re not in trouble. I only wanted to ask you what you remember about the man who gave you this.’ She slipped the little icon out of her handbag and passed it across the table.
Maryam’s fine dark brows arched upward. ‘I had forgotten about this.’ She took a deep breath and thought for a moment. ‘A Greek man. He was a wolf in the clothing of a sheep. Is that the way you say it?’
‘Yes, it is. Do you remember his name?’
‘Kostas. He was kind and handsome, but he was bad. I have met many men like him. They pretend to be your friend and they offer to help you, but you are not a human being to them.’
‘What did he say to you. Did he threaten you?’
‘He offered me work. He said he knew a place where I could work and be paid a lot of money. I came here, I had nothing. Only the clothes on my back. Most of us are the same. Some girls would be tempted, but I have met his kind before. The girls go and you never see them again.’
‘What kind of work did he offer?’
‘He could never put it into words. Kostas must keep himself clean, you see? But I know what kind of work.’ She glanced at Nessa. ‘The kind where you must lie with men.’
‘Sex work?’
‘Yes. But they do not give you a choice.’ She turned the icon over and pointed to a blurred mark on the wood. ‘You see this? He told me to call this number. He got angry when I told him no.’
Amy squinted and saw something that neither she nor Harrison had noticed previously: a mobile phone number written in tiny, faint pencil script on the bottom left corner.
‘Did you call it?’
Maryam shoved the icon away forcefully. ‘No, never.’
‘I wish you’d told me,’ Nessa said.
Maryam’s eyes flickered toward her, full of shame. ‘I was afraid. I did not know who to trust. If he found out I told anyone, he would have made things bad for me. This is the way it works.’
‘You thought I was in on it?’ Tears formed in the corner of Nessa’s eyes. ‘How could I be in on something like that?’
Maryam only shook her head.
Amy answered for her. ‘Because sometimes friends aren’t really friends, and sometimes all you can trust is what you know in here.’ She thumped her fist over her heart.
‘You understand,’ said Maryam meekly. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Nessa. ‘I am sorry. I hope you are not angry with me.’
‘Of course not,’ Nessa said, but her face had drained of colour. She stood up and paced back and forth at the end of the table, rubbing her hands over her face, apparently on the verge of a full-on anxiety attack. ‘I can’t believe I let him in here. I can’t believe I was so stupid.’
Amy ignored Nessa’s attention-seeking behaviour, and tried to reassure the girl. ‘Maryam, I promise you, your name will never get back to Kostas or anybody else. He’s not in the country anymore, so don’t worry about him. I only want to make sure nothing happens to any other girls. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?’
‘No, that’s all. I never saw him again.’
‘Okay. Thank you.’ On impulse, she reached across the table and squeezed the girl’s hand, wondering if she’d feel any tingling messages coming through her skin like Harrison would. But all she felt was warm, soft, sweaty skin. ‘God bless, Maryam. I wish you well.’
In the car, she showed Harrison the phone number on the back of the icon. ‘Should we phone it and see what happens?’
‘No way.’ He touched the number with his finger tip, as if it might tell him something. Amy noticed that his hand was shaking.
‘You don’t look so hot, Indiana.’
‘I don’t feel so hot either, to be honest.’
‘Are you coming down with something?’
‘Just my usual pre-Christmas depression combined with overwork, mental overload and sleep-deprivation. Nothing a bottle of whisky won’t cure.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Or at least make me forget. I’m going to speak to Colin Muir, my mate in CID. The icon is one for him, not us. I need to figure out how we get closer to Lucy.’
‘Let me journey again and find Tim.’
‘Amy ...’
‘He’ll tell us where she is.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.’
‘Then why did you let me do it last night? Why did you let me into this at all?’
‘I don’t know if I should have.’
Amy crossed her arms and watched him drive. ‘Harri, I grew up in East Belfast. I’ve been to Afghanistan twice. It’s my job to scrape casualties off the streets of Edinburgh. There isn’t much that can shock me anymore. I’m not weak and I don’t need you to protect me from anything.’
‘I know. But when I met you, you were suicidal and I don’t want to be responsible for ...’
‘I am perfectly capable of taking responsibility for my own life. Anyway, you’re the one talking about depression.’
‘That was a joke.’
‘You think you’re the only one who can read people? You’re an open book.’
He smiled. ‘It’s just a seasonal thing.’
‘Right.’ They rolled to a halt on Minto Street. The road was torn up for the renewal of gas pipelines, and the queue of taillights ahead of them stretched into the distance. Pedestrians left them in the dust. They were going to be stuck in this uncomfortable conversation for quite a while longer. ‘What do you do for Christmas, anyway?’
He shrugged. ‘Just try and survive it, like most single people.’
‘I mean, where do you go? You stay at home?’
‘My mum lives in Glasgow. Sometimes I go there, or I spend it with some friends from work. What about you?’
‘My mum’ll expect me to go home, but to be quite honest I’d rather sit in my flat alone and stick toothpicks under my fingernails one by one.’
Harrison winced. ‘That good, huh?’
‘Festive as a crematorium on a rainy day. It’s the same every year: overcooked turkey, EastEnders and the usual chorus of, It’s not the same since Dad and Ian died. My mum doesn’t ascribe to the notion that life goes on.’
Harrison said nothing. Amy shivered although the heating was on full and she was sweaty in her damp coat. Inside her head, a little door opened and from the other side, she could hear someone shouting. Her stomach began to flutter.
She shifted in her seat and looked out the window. The wipers clunked back and forth and they rolled slowly toward the city centre. Out on the street, people were already leaving work and scurrying for buses. Afternoon drinkers were emerging from pubs, blinking into a blur of headlights and rain.
The voice was still shouting. It was Ricky, in a state of lonely desperation. In what seemed like a flash of lightning, she saw him holding a rope, forming a hangman’s noose. She thought for a moment about what she had said to Maryam, and she
knew she had to follow this, even if it proved to be a mistake.
True to form, Harrison glanced at her with a curious expression. ‘What is it, Amy?’
‘Oh my God. Can you not just switch that off sometimes?’
He braked hard as the traffic in front of them came to another abrupt halt. ‘Believe me, I wish I could. Is it Ricky?’
She cringed. ‘I need to go see him.’
Harrison stared straight ahead for a moment, the red gleam of the traffic lights reflecting on his glasses. ‘Tell me where to go.’
‘You don’t have to do this. Drop me off and I’ll walk from here.’
‘I’m taking you.’
Gratitude almost overwhelmed her. ‘He’s in the flats at Dumbiedykes. You know the ones down Holyrood Road?’
‘Aye.’
‘I wasn’t sure how well acquainted you were with Edinburgh’s juicier addresses.’
‘I’ve had occasion to visit one or two of them.’ He indicated right to turn down Infirmary Street. ‘And no, to answer your question, I’m not completely clueless, even if I did go to private school.’
Amy stared at him for a couple of seconds. ‘I’m sorry for whatever I just thought.’
‘That I’m a clueless private school toff and that when Ricky sees me coming, he’ll think I’m a social worker.’
‘You scare me, you know that?’
‘Do I really look like a social worker?’
‘Do you really want me to answer that?’ She fell silent for a moment as they turned onto Dumbiedykes Road. The estate was a curious island of social housing that survived from the time when this was an industrial part of town, tucked between the touristy Old Town and Holyrood Park.
‘He’s in the one at the far end.’ She motioned for Harrison to continue driving along the curving street. ‘It’s not his flat, he’s crashing with his mate Geo. He’s been on the housing list since he moved out of my place, but there aren’t many one-bedroom places around. They offered him something on the fifth floor of a block out in Granton, but the lift was broken and with his leg ... I don’t know, he probably should have taken it. It meant they put him to the end of the list again.’
‘What’s wrong with his leg?’
‘He survived an explosion that killed four men in Helmand. You know when you see the leg of a cow hanging in the back of a butcher’s lorry? That’s what his looked like when I got to him. Half the skin was gone, the bones were shattered; it was full of metal, some of which is still there. By some miracle, they patched things up well enough for him to keep it, but it’ll never be right.’
‘Some way to meet a guy.’
She laughed softly. ‘We were already together before that happened. He’s a changed man, though. He hasn’t coped well at all with Civvy Street. Pull in here, it’s that one.’ She pointed to the grey three-storey block at the end. ‘Will you come in with me?’
‘Do you want me to?’
‘Yes,’ she said, not bothering to hide the fear in her voice.
The stair buzzer was broken and the door was banging on its hinges. She pushed it open and they went up one flight and along the landing. Amy thumped on the door to the flat with her fist and called ‘Ricky!’ through the shiny PVC. There was no answer, so she banged again. ‘Ricky, it’s me. I know you’re here.’
When he appeared, he was so drunk he had to hang onto the doorframe. His mouth twisted into a lurid grin. ‘Hiya Doc.’ He wobbled and tried to straighten himself up. His finger stabbed the air as if it was trying to point at a buzzing fly. ‘Nice of you to stop by.’ He looked Harrison up and down, eyes screwed up as he tried to focus. ‘Who the fuck’s this?’
‘Harri and I work together,’ Amy said. ‘We were passing and I had a bad feeling, Ricky. I just wanted to check you’re okay.’
Ricky ignored her concern and squinted up at Harrison. ‘This your new boyfriend? He’s no your type, hen.’
‘I just said, we work together, that’s all.’
‘That really is all,’ Harrison added for emphasis.
‘It better be,’ Ricky threatened, though at this point he didn’t look like he could land a punch on a bag. He turned and limped back into the flat. ‘You wantin’ a cold one?’
‘No thanks. Everything alright, Rick?’ There were no suspicious lengths of rope or other obviously dangerous items in sight, and she wondered if she’d over-reacted.
‘I’ll make us some tea,’ she muttered, and filled the kettle. The kitchen was as she expected it to be: a sticky demonstration of the fact that man can, for some time, live on beer alone. ‘Geo not here, Rick?’
‘Naw, he’s ...’ Ricky’s face went blank as he tried to remember, ‘I’ve no seen him in ... four, five days. He’s got a bird somewhere. It’s good of him to let me stay here, eh?’ He turned to Harrison again. ‘Without him, I’d be on the street, eh? Thanks to this one, here.’ He jabbed his finger toward Amy.
‘Oh, for the love of God, Ricky,’ Amy blurted. The same old anger filled her. She should have learned by now not to get into it with him. ‘Will you give me a break? I came by because I was worried about you. You know how I get a feeling about things?’
Gratitude crossed his face for less than a second, followed by anger. ‘You came by to gloat, you wee bitch.’ He took a step toward her and she turned her back protectively. ‘You came by to rub my nose in the shite.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Well take a good look around. You like this place? Consider yourself lucky you don’t have to stay here.’ He took another step toward her, and she refused to back away.
‘Blame the Man, Ricky, not her,’ Harrison said, stepping between them. ‘None of this is Amy’s fault.’
‘What the fuck you know about it, pal?’
‘I know you’re hurting. I know it feels like the whole planet’s against you, and I know that even after everything that’s happened, Amy wants to help you because she’s that kind of person and she can’t leave somebody alone when they’re in pain.’ He paused while Ricky goggled at him. ‘And you’re right, nothing in this world is fair at all.’
Ricky opened his mouth and looked for a moment like he was ready to fight. Then he crumpled like a pair of cast-off jeans, dropped his head onto the table and started to cry noisily.
‘Oh, for the love of Jesus,’ Amy muttered, as the mood swung from threat to humiliation. She slipped the can of beer out of his hand and poured it down the sink. ‘Ricky, get a grip.’
‘I can’t sleep,’ Ricky bawled. He lifted his red, slimy face and tried to fix his eyes on her. ‘I haven’t slept in days, Amy. I don’t know what to do with myself. I wish you’d stay with me, just for one night. Just stay here tonight, Amy. I’d sleep if you were beside me, I know I would. Please, hen. Just one night, please.’
‘No.’ Amy kept her distance, standing behind him clutching the warped worktop. She bit her lip and took a breath before speaking. ‘I’m sorry life feels so bad right now, Rick, but I can’t do that.’
Ricky’s shoulders shook. He bolted out of the kitchen, knocking his chair over in the process, and they heard him retching violently in the bathroom.
‘Poor bastard,’ Harrison said.
‘You should have had a career as a bomb disposal expert.’
‘Amazing what a little empathy can do. Let’s just see if we can get him into his bed.’
When the sounds of vomiting died down, they ventured into the bathroom to find him sitting on the floor beside the toilet, head in his hands. Amy filled a cup of water and made him rinse his mouth, and he barely noticed when they hoisted him under the arms and steered him onto the mattress he slept on in the spare room. They settled him on his side and he lay submissive and barely conscious, muttering pathetic words of love and apology.
Amy stood up and straightened her jumper. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Don’t leave me, Amy,’ Ricky moaned, struggling to sit up.
Harrison gently pushed him by the shoulders back onto the mattress. ‘Jus
t relax, mate. You’re all right. Just close your eyes and get some sleep.’
‘Amy ...’
She came back to the mattress and sat down beside him. ‘I’m here, Ricky.’ She took his hand, watched his eyelids grow heavy and felt the coiled tension in his muscles relax. Minutes went by and everything became still and peaceful. Even the voices and music from the neighbouring flats died away, and eventually all Amy knew was the steady cycle of her breath.
She was nearly asleep by the time Harrison placed his hand on her shoulder.
‘He’s out for the count. Let’s leave him to it.’
‘Gladly.’ Amy pulled the covers over Ricky and looked at him for a moment. His creased face had relaxed and she could almost see the features she had once fallen in love with. It had been a lively, handsome face before the war made it ugly. They left him sleeping off the foul cocktail of liquor and bad spirits. Harrison drove her home through the now relentless rain.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said after several minutes of awkward silence.
‘Don’t be.’
‘I hope you know I'm not as fucked up as that.’
Harrison laughed softly. ‘Thanks for the reassurance.’
‘Could you…see anything? About him ... and me?’
‘I saw enough to know that it took some guts for you to go over there tonight.’
She looked away for a moment. It was hard to remember the pain of Ricky’s fist on her face anymore, but what she would never forget was that first sight of herself in the mirror afterwards: the eyes swollen nearly shut, the bruises spreading along her cheeks and mouth, the blood drying on her lips. He had gone for her face because as much as he wanted to hurt her, he wanted to humiliate her even more. He wanted to shame her and make her afraid to go out, and he wanted to make her believe she deserved it.
‘It only happened the one time,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t look on her as a victim. The humiliation was still there.
‘I can’t imagine you’d be the kind of person to allow it to happen more than once.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Receiving no response, she continued. ‘He used to be alright, you know. He’s smart as a whip, and he used to be such good fun to be around. I don’t know if he changed after his injury or if he always had it in him to be like this. Maybe I’m not as good a judge of character as I used to think I was.’
Siren Song (Harrison Jones and Amy Bell Mystery Book 1) Page 15