Smith grinned. “I’m not Bond. I’m Smith. We keep Bond in the cellar. He’s rather full of himself and tends to break things.”
Back up in the suite, they had a late lunch and a fresh cuppa then sat down again to work on the GPS data.
Quinn noticed it first. “The two phones—the old and the new—they went to all the same places until the old one disappeared.”
Elizabeth double-checked, comparing the GPS coordinates, times, and dates. “You’re right. That saves us a lot of effort.”
They spent the next hour getting organized, grouping locations together, places Jack had gone more than once.
“All of these locations are in or between Glasgow and Edinburgh.”
“Aye, he didnae go to Troon. He didnae go to any port towns.”
“We’ve got nothing here that ties Jack to Grant or his shipping business.” Elizabeth let out a frustrated breath. “I understand now why the police don’t seem interested in Grant.”
Then they got down to the hard work—matching each GPS coordinate with a destination. They started with the places he’d gone the most—home, the supermarket, the same handful of petrol stations, a bakery, Hannah’s house, the pub, the hardware store, a nightclub, Holyrood.
He’d run errands for his family after work most nights, errands that would now be left to Ava to manage on her own with two wee ones.
Poor Ava.
Elizabeth typed in another location. “That looks like a soccer field.”
Quinn had more experience with satellite images. “Those are goal posts. See? That’s a rugby pitch—and over here, doll, it’s no’ soccer. It’s football.”
“Whatever.” She smiled. “It’s all just men playing with their balls.”
He leaned over, pressed a kiss to her nose. “As I recall, you like men’s balls.”
After three tedious hours, they were left with a few unknowns—the place he went every Friday night, likely for Whitehall’s social events, and a handful of spots downtown where several businesses shared space in a single building.
Elizabeth stretched. “We can work on the rest tomorrow.”
Quinn stood, walked behind her, rubbed her shoulders. “I’ve got a few ideas about how we can spend the evenin’.”
“Mmm.” Elizabeth’s eyes drifted shut. “So do I.”
* * *
“It’s rightin front of you, Shields. Why can’t you see it?” Comstock glared at her.
She looked down at the page. There was nothing but scribbles and gibberish that seemed to be different every time she tried to make sense of them. “I can’t read this.”
“It’s right in front of you! For God’s sake, look!”
“I don’t see anything.” Now the page was blank.
How could that be?
“You’re better than this. You’re distracted. Focus!”
Elizabeth sat upright, felt a rush of relief to find that it was only a dream.
Quinn stirred, raised his head, rested a hand on her arm, his red hair tousled. “Are you okay, Lilibet?”
She lay back down, her pulse still tripping. “I dreamed I was still in training, and one of my instructors was yelling at me, telling me I needed to focus.”
“Did somethin’ happen wi’ him? Is he one of—”