‘This isn’t a discussion I want to have, OK?’ Milligan increased his pace, striding away. Silva followed. ‘You’ve had a warning, you might say a lucky escape. Take my advice and move on.’
‘Move on? Are you fucking joking?’ Silva caught up with Milligan. She was angry at the way he was being so dismissive. ‘My mother was murdered and I’m beginning to suspect the facts aren’t as simple as the authorities are making out.’
‘Forget it, right? Forget whatever you think you know.’
‘It’s Hope, isn’t it? Karen Hope?’
Milligan stopped and spun round. He shot a hand out and grabbed Silva by the wrist. ‘For God’s sake don’t mention her name.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because I told you not to, OK?’
Silva paused and lowered her voice. ‘How has it come to this, Neil?’
Milligan let go of Silva’s arm. He stared down at the asphalt path. The surface was dotted with the white blotches of discarded chewing gum and he moved his right foot and scuffed at a piece. After a moment he looked up, his face drained of colour.
‘I’ve got three children, Rebecca. They walk half a mile to school and back every day. Do you know how easy it would be for a car to mount the kerb and run them over? How easy it would be for someone to sweep past and throw acid at them? I’m not easily frightened, but I couldn’t live with myself if…’ Milligan’s words trailed off as he looked across to an elaborate tomb where a cherub stood on a plinth. ‘I’ve resisted pressure before but that’s always come from big business or hapless politicians or tinpot dictators. This is different. This is much, much bigger. Global.’
‘Global?’ Silva was thrown. Milligan was opening up but now she was wondering if he was slipping into fantasy. ‘Are you saying there’s some kind of conspiracy?’
‘Yes.’ Milligan gulped and swallowed. Sweat beaded on his forehead as if he had a fever. ‘Too many people have too much riding on this to contemplate the alternative. I’ve always believed in speaking truth to power, but the power in this case is too strong. I can’t fight against them without losing everything.’
‘Does anyone else have the story?’
‘There is no story. I’ve told you nothing, Rebecca, nothing, understand?’
‘At least tell me what happened to my mother’s files so I can follow this up.’
Milligan glanced round, scanning the shadows under the trees. He stepped off the path, beckoned Silva to follow and darted away into a stand of thick laurel. Silva jogged after him and pushed under a tangle of branches into a little clearing. Milligan stood on the far side. He held his hands up.
‘Stop.’ He clenched his fists, fighting something internally before letting his hands fall to his sides. ‘This is all I tell you, OK? You promise you won’t try to contact me again? Promise you won’t tell anybody we met?’
‘I promise,’ Silva said.
‘The laptop was taken away by a couple of intelligence officers. They said it contained evidence that would help them track down the terrorists. When I logged on to our system and tried to discover what happened to the files your mother had backed up to the cloud, I found nothing. All the material had been deleted without trace.’
‘But—’
‘That’s it. I don’t want to hear another word.’ Milligan stepped away. ‘We can’t meet again, not alone like this. It’s too risky.’
‘Neil, you’ve got to help me get to the truth!’
‘I’m sorry about your mother, more sorry than you can know, but I’m done with this, understand?’ Milligan turned around and started to go back the way they’d come. When Silva took a step after him he held up his hands. ‘Let it go, Rebecca. For your own good. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to pursue this at the cost of the lives of the people she loved.’
Milligan trotted off into the trees, dodged through a gap in a tall box hedge and was gone.
Outside the sun was brighter than ever and Holm squinted against the glare. His headache had subsided, but the last thing he wanted to be doing was chasing after Javed.
‘What’s this about?’ Holm stepped across the pavement. Javed was indicating the park over the road, so they crossed and went in.
‘You thought this was Taher, right?’ Javed began to stroll up a path that curved round a kids’ playground. ‘Directly involved or behind the scenes, but ultimately responsible?’
‘Yes.’ Holm glanced over to where a toddler had tripped and taken a face plant. His dad was trying to console the little boy. ‘Even if nobody believes me.’
‘I didn’t say that. I said nobody else believes you.’
‘So you do think it was Taher?’
Javed turned his attention to a pair of pigeons crossing the path ahead. He stopped and watched as they squabbled over a discarded burger.
‘Well?’ Holm was running out of patience. He began to walk on. ‘Do you?’
‘Here.’ Javed pulled out his phone and thrust it at Holm. ‘I’ve got a Twitter account. Personal. I don’t use it for much though. The occasional message to friends, plus I like to follow some footie stuff. Arsenal mostly.’
Holm raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t imagine Javed as a football fan. ‘So?’
‘This was posted last night. It was to me and about half a dozen other Gunners fans, but when you read the message you’ll see the other recipients were just a blind.’
Holm peered down at the phone. The tweet was in Arabic and he struggled to get beyond one or two words.
‘A football fan who communicates in Arabic. So what?’
‘I’ll translate, shall I?’ Javed smiled. ‘The innocent one wakes. He seeks to avenge the wrongs which have been done. He shall punish the transgressors but others will fall as well. Women and children and babes in arms. Who can say if this is justice? Who will listen to my voice? Who will stop this madness?’
Holm stopped in his tracks. ‘Say the first bit again.’
‘The innocent
