Hostage to Murder by Val McDermid

Gordon.” She thrust a hand out. “I’m Sandra Singh. I’m supposed to be this one’s best pal.” Lindsay took the offered handshake with a nod.
    Rory gave an exasperated little smile. “Lindsay, meet Sandra. Sandra is a factual programmes producer/director up the road at STV. She hates her boss, she likes boys that are barely old enough to shave and she thinks that since my mammy’s dead, she should poke her nose into my business all the time.”
    Lindsay moved up the bench to make room for Sandra. “Good to meet you. It’s nice to know there’s somewhere I can go to get the dirt if I need an edge.”
    Sandra shook her head at the available seat. “I’m not stopping. I was passing and I thought I’d just say hello. You girls plotting?”
    Lindsay said, “Yes,” at the precise moment Rory said, “No.”
    â€œI’ll take that as a yes, and leave you to it. Catch you later.” With a wave of her slender fingers, she was off.
    Rory raised her eyes heavenwards. “Something else.”
    â€œClearly. So, do you have an answer?”
    Rory looked momentarily bewildered. “An answer?”
    â€œWarrant cards.”
    â€œRight. Eh, not as far as I know. Why?”
    â€œI think this comes into the category of what you don’t know can’t hurt you. Have you got an address for Keillor? There isn’t one in the file.”
    Rory dug around in her backpack and produced a battered filofax. She rummaged around inside and finally unearthed a torn scrap of paper. She tore a sheet out of the notebook on the table and scribbled down an address in Milngavie. “You sure you don’t want to talk it through?” she said almost wistfully as she handed it over.
    â€œI’m sure. If it all goes horribly wrong, at least you’ll be able to
put your hand on your heart and say it was nothing to do with you.”
    â€œWell, damn,” Rory said. “Haven’t you figured out yet that I like trouble?”
    â€œAll the more reason not to tell you what I’ve got in mind,” Lindsay said dryly. “I can get into enough trouble for both of us, all by myself.”
    Rory grinned. “Oh good. You know, I think we’re going to be pure dead brilliant together.”
    Lindsay’s smile didn’t make it to her eyes. It wasn’t so long ago that she would have said the same thing about her and Sophie. Now, she really wasn’t sure any more.

Chapter 7
    Bernie Gourlay took the washing out of the tumble drier and began to fold it. She noticed that one of Jack’s school sweatshirts had begun to split at the shoulder seam and put it to one side to sew up later. She often heard mothers complaining about the things they had to do for their kids. But she’d never once felt like that. She knew what a miracle he was, and she counted it a privilege to be able to take care of the details of his life. She’d been conscious ever since he’d been placed in her arms that his dependency on her would wane consistently as he grew older, and she’d determined then that she would enjoy every moment, every phase of his development, but that she’d let go when she had to.
    She was, she thought, the luckiest person she knew. She’d escaped from a life that was difficult and anxious, and although the journey hadn’t been without its ups and downs, now she’d achieved something she’d never have believed possible. Happiness. Jack was growing strong and healthy, a cheerful child whose face never seemed crossed with shadows. And she had Tam. Big, daft, lovely Tam who had swept her off her feet and never minded that Jack was another man’s son, nor that she was incapable of having more children by him. Tam, who had bought this beautiful big garden flat for them to live in, who saw to it that none of them ever went without, who worked hard to take care of
them all but who never let his