Blood Whispers by John Gordon Sinclair Page B

ordering at the bar than studying for it.’
    *
    David drew the back of his hand across his brow and stared off down the length of the stuffy, windowless corridor. ‘Dark blue carpet tiles with khaki walls: whoever came up with that combo should be put away.’
    He was sitting between Keira and Janica outside an interview room at Strathclyde Police HQ in the centre of town, waiting for Kaltrina Dervishi to arrive. Keira was struggling with how best to help the girl. She’d tried asking for the charges to be dropped and for the girl to be taken into a witness protection programme, but Sellar wasn’t playing the game. It was increasingly likely that Kaltrina would have to face the son-of-a-bitch in court. In order to help the girl fully, Keira needed to know everything. There could be no secrets: no surprises when she got to court.
    Up to this point her client had been communicative, but Keira got the impression she was holding something back.
    She was also concerned that the video recording was likely to have its intended effect on Kaltrina and make her stop talking to them.
    *
    Today Kaltrina Dervishi was being herself. The lawyer had played a big role in making her feel comfortable in her own skin. She treated her like a human being, didn’t patronize her and listened to what she had to say without judging her. Kaltrina felt safe when Keira was around and regretted not being able to speak enough English to talk to her without the translator, whom she didn’t trust. She would be more open if it was just the two of them. Kaltrina could judge someone’s character within seconds of meeting them – in her line of business it was essential – and something about Janica Ahmeti made her feel uneasy. Kaltrina noticed how the interpreter behaved around Keira: almost as though she was nervous of her. She was fairly certain that Janica found the lawyer attractive, so it could simply be that.
    Kaltrina stood, extending her cuffed hands towards Keira as she entered the room. ‘They think maybe I attack you. I don’t know.’
    Keira put her arm round the girl in an affectionate embrace. ‘How are you, Kaltrina? Is it my imagination, or has your face filled out a little since I saw you yesterday?’
    The girl smiled as Janica translated the words into Albanian. Then replied in broken English, ‘I eating everything they are give me in prison, but nothing is without chips. You ask for glass of water . . . it is glass of water and chips. This is why . . .’ she didn’t finish the sentence, but blew her cheeks out to illustrate her point.
    The room was small and stuffy with a table in the middle, four chairs and nothing else. Everyone took a seat while the escorting prison officer stood by the door, watching over them.
    ‘What is trouble you today?’ asked Kaltrina.
    ‘What d’you mean?’ replied Keira.
    ‘You have shqetësoj on face. I can see.’
    ‘Worry, distress,’ translated Janica.
    ‘Something is not good?’
    ‘You’re very perceptive, Kaltrina. I’ve brought a recording I need you to watch, but I’m concerned it’s going to upset you. I’d rather not have to show it to you, but I have no option.’
    ‘My whole life is upset.’ Kaltrina shrugged. ‘One more thing will make not a difference.’
    On Keira’s cue, David reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out a tablet computer, which he laid on the table in front of her, then without further prompting pressed PLAY .
    Kaltrina’s expression remained flat as she watched the video of her mother and father. It was less than a minute long, but by the end, as she lifted her gaze back to Keira there were tears running down her cheeks.
    The room was silent.
    It was several minutes before Kaltrina said in a quiet voice, ‘I weep not for them.’
    Sitting there with no make-up, she looked small and vulnerable: too young to have to deal with this sort of pressure. Keira wanted to push the table aside and pull the girl to her in a tight embrace, take the