He looked around, but there seemed no sign of mother and child.“Ayisha’s gone to visit friends,” Quinn explained.“Friends?”“She’s allowed to have friends, John.” Quinn was bending over to hook a black low-heeled shoe onto her left foot.“I didn’t mean anything,” he said defensively.She straightened up. “Yes, you did, but don’t worry about it. Did I tell you Ayisha was a nurse back in her homeland?”“Yes.”“She wanted work here, doing the same thing . . . but asylum seekers aren’t allowed to work. Still, she made friends with some nurses. One of them’s having a get-together.”“I brought something for the baby,” Rebus said, sliding a rattle from his pocket. Quinn came towards him, took the rattle, and tried it out. She looked at him and smiled.“I’ll put it in her room.”Left on his own, Rebus realized he was sweating, his shirt clinging to his back. He thought of removing his jacket, but feared the stain would be visible. It was the jacket’s fault: hundred percent wool, too warm for indoors.
