Read Shrike (Book 2): Rampant for Free Online Page B

throat. 
    Maybe she doesn't have so much on Taog and me after all. I set down my utensils and reach over, taking her hand. "We don't know yet. Trevor said they wanted to keep it quiet because they don't have all the facts yet. It could be a set up."
    But my words don't sound convincing even to me. I want to be the type of person who could look at Ross with the steadfast gaze of a friend who knew beyond any shadow of doubt or worry that he would never, could never plot with terrorists to murder hundreds of thousands of people. 
    The problem is, you can never really know a person. Not truly. Not all of them. The neighbour who's found guilty of paedophilia. The aunt who's been tucking whisky into her morning cuppa for a decade. The friend who sleeps with your significant other. 
    Until September, I didn't want to believe anyone I knew could be so evil. Not even de Fournay. For all she spent her days delighting in my humiliation and ignominy, I never thought her capable of murder — but she'd killed first almost eight years ago.
    Now my benefit of the doubt has been depleted.
    When I look at Magda, it's clear hers has too.
    She finally speaks a moment later. "I hope they are wrong."
    I watch her chest expand and contract three times. She closes her eyes for three seconds. When she opens them, her face is calm again. Almost serene. Her fingers steady on her fork, and she goes back to eating.
    I'm not sure I will ever have her strength.
     
     
     
    Trevor rings me at half seven the next morning to let me know that he's managed to get me a visit with Ross for 14:30. I take a half day at work and pass the time wondering why I've not heard from David. 
    I pile documents into a briefcase for identification. Utility bills, my passport, my photographic driving license, my latest bank statement. After Trevor's admonition to come prepared, I don't want to get turned away because they don't reckon me Gwen Maule enough to be on the list. And there is a list, I've been told. Ross put me on it.
    If he were guilty, why would he allow me to visit him?
    Then again, if Ross is guilty of helping de Fournay and Britannia set that bomb, maybe he's intelligent enough to figure I'd assume him guilty if he didn't add me to that list. 
    I try to swallow the unease I feel as I buckle the briefcase around my stack of identifying papers.
    It's pissing it down outside. The bus takes me to Saughton, but not before I've managed to step in a deceptively deep puddle and soak my stockings. 
    One of these days, I'm going to give up on stockings altogether.
    Her Majesty's Edinburgh Prison is a shinier building than one might expect. In spite of the constant downspout from the sky, the clouds roil across, letting blue patches and sun leak through. The sun glints off the full glass face of the building, which is crowned and flanked by blocky red stone. I arrive just before two o'clock, and as much as the guards scrutinise my identification, they let me through after a pat down and a trip through the metal detectors, and I'm deposited into a long room of padded chairs that looks more like I'd see in hospital than in a prison. A few other visitors trickle in. There are some refreshments available, and I get myself a cuppa and a packet of crisps while I wait.
    I almost don't recognise Ross when they trot him out. As he's on remand, he's allowed an unsupervised visit, and he sees me after a beat and makes his way toward me. He's wearing all black. Black trousers, black t-shirt, black shoes. It makes the pallor of his skin even more pronounced, leeching the colour from his face. His curly dark hair is stuck flat to his skull, and his eyes wear dark circles underneath them like an old woman with drooping shopping bags.
    He sits down across from me, but he doesn't meet my eyes.
    "Jesus, Ross. All right, then?"
    For another moment he looks at the floor, then across the table at me. He shakes his head, a slight movement that makes his neck look like it's supporting a