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because he was breathing and making noises when they take him away. I don’t know where they take him. I think they will kill him. They want to kill both us.’ He looked at Rosie with pleading eyes. ‘But why? Why to kill us?’
    Rosie had seen that pitiful look before on the faces of so many desperate refugees, from Kosovo to Rwanda, fleeing terror and murder. In the far-flung lands where factions had squabbled for generations and villages were being brutally ethnically cleansed, someone could alwaysprovide an answer to why people turn on each other. But these people had come here to escape. She had no answers.
    ‘I don’t know, Emir,’ Rosie said, squeezing his arm. ‘But I promise you one thing, I will find the answer. Trust me.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Did you go to the police? The Refugee Council? Have you told anyone what happened?’
    Emir shook his head. ‘I am afraid. I not know who I can trust. Maybe they don’t believe me. Do you believe me?’
    ‘Of course I do, but I think you should go to the police, or go to the Refugee Council and tell them what happened. They will have records of your friend and you, when you came here. They will investigate.’
    ‘But how can I tell them what happened? I don’t know where is the place. They won’t believe me. Maybe they think I make it up and I have done something to my friend.’ He put his hand to his mouth, shaking his head. ‘I never do anything to hurt Jetmir. We are friends since we are children.’ Again, tears filled his eyes.
    They sat in silence. Rosie watched him. It crossed her mind that he might be making the story up because she knew that’s the first thing McGuire would ask her. She dismissed the thought. Her gut instinct told her he was telling the truth, but she could see how far-fetched his story would seem if he turned up at a police station. The only thing on his side was that he’d been to Tony Murphy’s office the day they were kidnapped. If police were investigating Murphy’s death and hadn’t already written it off as ‘not suspicious’, then they would have to listen to Emir’s story. She would call Don and run it past him. So whatif it was Saturday morning and he was having the weekend off.
    ‘Let me make a phone call, Emir. Don’t worry.’
    Don’s phone rang out and went onto message. Then Rosie remembered that he was going fishing with his mates and probably had his phone switched off at least until the evening. She dismissed the idea of contacting some out-of-hours number at the Refugee Council. It would be wrong to throw Emir into a confusing mire of red tape and officialdom.
    ‘I want to talk to a friend of mine, Emir,’ she said. ‘He’s a detective, and I’m sure he’ll be able to help, but he’s not answering his phone.’ Rosie glanced at her watch. ‘Listen. I don’t think there’s a lot we can do over the weekend. I’ll take you to the police station now if you want, but it might be better for you to leave it until I can get my detective friend. But can you give me your phone number and the exact address of your flat, so I can keep in touch?’
    Emir nodded, and gave her the details which she wrote down. ‘Okay. I wait for you to call me.’ He stood up. ‘I go back to now and stay in my apartment.’
    ‘I’ll drive you there, if you want.’
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘I go by myself.’ He stretched out a hand. ‘Thank you. I know you will help me.’ He clasped her hand tightly.
    ‘I will, Emir.’ Rosie saw the desperation in his eyes. ‘I’ll do everything I can.’ She watched as he turned and left the cafe, walking briskly across the station, and disappeared through the archway into the street.

CHAPTER 5
    Tanya was a discreet distance away from the overspill of mourners standing in the drizzle outside the Catholic church, waiting for the end of Tony Murphy’s funeral mass. Looking around at the smartly dressed people who had turned up to pay their respects, she wondered if they really