Rita knew she could have probably wrangled another night or two in the hotel but the thought of being in such proximity to Matteo and the cult while she was away from both Alfonso and all the security of her own home made her feel cold. So instead she had found an Airbnb a few streets away from Subeera's building, dumped her stuff and headed straight back out, hoping she'd reapplied her makeup well enough that nobody would see she'd been crying. 

Subeera had insisted that she stayed for dinner, but Rita was too on edge and wired to eat much of her makloubeh*, delicious as it was. Even the dessert, a generous helping of stuffed pancakes and syrup, had defeated her. Subeera's sister Shaheen and her husband had brought their kids along; now that they had all left, she was on the sofa scrolling through Rita's photos; her mum, Wahidah, was slumped beside her, her nose deep in a book in Arabic. 

'Isn't that Robert Pirone? I didn't know he'd written a book,' Rita said, recognising the ruggedly handsome 50-something on the front cover. Pirone, a former paparazzi photographer living in Japan, had exposed a human trafficking ring operated by a wealthy American rock star. Since the story had broken, Pirone's fame had skyrocketed. A few songs had even been written about him. 

'It's his autobiography,' Subeera said, looking up. 'Mum's a huge fan. I got it for her birthday.'

'He is just so...honest.' Wahidah spoke in a thick Arabic accent. 'He doesn't leave anything out, even when it looks terrible on him. The situations he's been in...my mind could never think of.' She put her arm round Subeera. 'And he loves his daughter. That's the sweetest thing.' 

Rita could imagine such situations only too well as she wiped her eyes. Her heart hammered in her chest against her will despite how tired she was. Outside the sun had long since dropped and rain hammered the window. She looked at the darkened window behind her, knowing she'd soon have to make a move. 

'Goodness,' Subeera said under her breath. 'Alex mentioned the pamphlets. He didn't tell me about these creepy pictures.' 

'The police weren't there very long,' Rita said. 'He was only checking if Matteo was there.' 

Wahidah nudged her daughter. 'Alex is all right? He didn't reply to you yet, ya hulwa*?'  

'He sent me such a sweet text yesterday,' Subeera said, shaking her head. 'But since then, nothing. That's not like him. He's never late with anything.' She looked miserable and tense. 'Bless his socks, he asked me out once. He had a proper crush on me, probably still does. I need to stop being para.' 

'About what?' Something heavy settled in Rita's stomach.

'The sort of stuff that'll be going round about me down the nick. Some people see someone like me and think - I don't even wanna say it.' Subeera shifted in her seat, a pained expression on her face. 'Not him, but I know what they'll be saying...' 

'Not Alex,' Wahidah tutted. 'He's one of the good ones. He helped me with my horrible neighbours.' 

'I know, Mum, he's a friend,' Subeera gulped. 'Ugh. No. I need to stop thinking like this. Tell me to stop if I...' 

'You said Alex got in trouble at work, too,' Rita said. 

'Yeah,' Subeera said, handing back Rita's phone before giving her mother a tight hug. 'I'll try again tomorrow. Goodness. I hope he's all right.' 

* 

It had stopped raining by the time Rita left the flat. She felt a blast of cold air hit her skin as she stepped into the night. Someone somewhere had been burning rubbish before the rain had started and the acrid scent of it still hung around. She gazed around at the damp streets. Water had collected on the ground in shallow puddles. Soft footsteps approached behind her and she turned to see Wahidah walking slowly from the entrance. 

'She wanted to get me a taxi,' Wahidah said affectionately, without any annoyance. 'My girls worry too much about me. I said I'll walk. I always have and I always will. Even back home. I wasn't afraid of the Israeli army. Why would I be scared of some dirty old man?' 

'Working in law enforcement, you learn to see everyone as a suspect,' Rita muttered.  

'Yes,' Wahidah said. 'I never told her, but I didn't like her doing that job. I was worried every day.' She touched Rita's arm roughly. 'I'll walk with you. You don't know your way round.' 

As they walked down the concrete steps onto the pavement, Rita spotted the silver car by the bus stop on the other side of the road, its engine running. The fact it had gone by the time she'd come back and then reappeared away from its original position unsettled her more than if it had just stayed there. As the two women drew parallel with the vehicle, before Rita could get out her phone and take a picture of the registration, the driver pulled away and drove slowly on in the opposite direction. Wahidah muttered under her breath. 'Very strange.' 

'I saw that car this morning, parked near the school,' Rita said. 

Wahidah's voice was disapproving. 'I've seen it driving past a few times. They must be drug dealers. They started hanging around here about three or four months ago.' At the end of the road she stopped in her tracks and turned abruptly down a narrow pathway. 'Here. This is the shortcut.' 

'Did anything else happen around then?' Rita said, the heavy feeling returning to her chest. 

'I don't know what happened here three months ago. I just saw it once or twice.' Wahidah's voice was suddenly irritated. Then she said, 'I'm sorry. With what happened to Ghassan...I was looking at my phone checking on people back home and trying to raise money. I couldn't sleep, I watched the news all night.' She gave a heavy sigh. 'I couldn't face going out, except to protests. If it wasn't for my girls...' 

A horrible feeling twisted up Rita's insides. She wanted to say some words of comfort but there was nothing that could be enough. A coke can lay in the middle of the path. She kicked it down the tarmac away from her. 

'That's when someone saw Subeera at that dinner.' A huge, wet twirl of ivy hit Rita in the face before she brushed it away. 

'Subeera couldn't go to anything because of her job,' Wahidah said, shaking her head. 'Even if she had been allowed, she was always working. She took Noor out once after a protest and that was enough for them...' She stepped over a puddle on the ground filled with wet leaves and said sadly, 'She'll come now.' 

'And one of those times was when you started seeing the car?' Rita said, more insistent than she wanted it. Blood rushed to her ears and cheeks. 

'Surely that wasn't anything to do with it,' Wahidah stuttered. 'They're only...what's the word? Lowlifes. No, it was that professor. Josh or Jon. That's what she said. He followed her, didn't he?' 

'Someone definitely did.' Rita could see houses and flats at the end of the alley. A bird chirped incongruously somewhere. Pobrecito must be disorientated by the lights, she thought, with a step towards the sound. 'And I think whoever did might know exactly what happened to Erica Scott.'

'Why haven't they arrested him?' Wahidah spat out the words, taking Rita by surprise. She booted the can away hard, so it clashed against the wire fence. 'As if my daughter hasn't been through enough. It was her dream to do this job and they ruined her career for this pettiness. Is he with the government? The Israelis? What?' 

'Anything is possible,' Rita said. 'Someone's getting him out of trouble. He is extremely dangerous. He should never have been released and I cannot see how any judge could have done that.' Rita remembered Jon's outburst in the pub. The anger and hatred of women that rose off him with every encounter like something rotting still made her skin crawl. She hadn't been able to bring herself to pick up his voyeuristic book with all its lingering details since her train journey back from Heather. It stuck in her throat to say the words she was about to say. 

'He'll hurt another poor girl,' Wahidah said under her breath. 'He already has.' 

'I know. I've seen him. He loses control so quickly, it's terrifying,' Rita said, feeling hot at the back of her neck despite the cold damp air. The alley they were walking down reminded her of the one the 'professor' had so pruriently described. Her fingers gripped each other inside her gloves. 

Lina still wasn't safe. Neither was anyone else.

'Did he keep himself in check long enough to hold onto those photos for months?' Rita said, going through her thought process aloud. 'If I was him, if I saw a police officer I feel had a vendetta against me, hanging out with someone who'd clearly come from that protest - and I was completely amoral - I'd want to tell her superiors right away.'

'I thought he'd sent in the pictures to ruin the investigation.' Wahidah's voice was anxious but sceptical. 

Rita brushed more damp thorns away from her, took a breath. 'Someone did. It could have been him. But it could have also been someone from the cult.' 

*****

* makloubeh - Palestinian rice based dish that is served upside down with the rice at the top. 

* Ya hulwa - 'sweetie' or something similar used as a term of endearment there