‘The archbishop likes him,’ she conceded ‘so I suppose he must be.’
‘Jim Gainer likes everybody; he has the gift of bringing out the best in people.’
‘He’d be struggling with Tommy Murtagh. I wonder what he’s doing now; he’s dropped off my radar completely.’
Bob smiled. ‘If you put your mind to it, you wouldn’t be long in guessing what he’s up to. Like many a fallen politician, he’s a public affairs consultant, a lobbyist. While you were First Minister he kept a low profile, but now the Nationalists are in power, I hear that he’s more out in the open.’
‘How do you know all this? That’s not your world.’
He picked her navy blue jacket from the bed as she stood, and held it for her as she slipped it on. ‘Honey,’ he said, ‘I’m the chief constable. Everything is my world. Plus he has priority; I keep half an eye on the little bastard. He tried to ruin your career, and mine. I won’t forget that, ever.’
‘I bet he was jumping for joy when the Nats won the by-election for Ainsley Glover’s seat and took over the Scottish Government.’
‘I’m sure he was, but he had to do it privately. It was his own party that had lost out.’
‘Mmm,’ Aileen murmured. She led the way out of the bedroom, past the children’s rooms, from which sounds of awakening were coming, and downstairs, into the kitchen. ‘You want toast?’ she asked.
‘When do I ever? Cereal’ll do as usual.’ He filled the kettle and switched it on, dropped a tea bag into each of two matching mugs, then served himself a bowl of Special K.
‘You know what?’ his wife remarked, as she waited for the toaster to pop. ‘I’m not so sure we did lose out.’
Half-smiling, he raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, if you think back six months or so, when I sacked my coalition partners because they were useless, and formed a minority administration, you’ll remember that most of the Scottish media thought I’d lost the plot. When the opposition won the by-election, became the largest single party in the chamber, challenged me and won, they were absolutely convinced that I had. But what’s happened since then? The economic shit-storm has got worse . . . as I was told by the Prime Minister last summer that it would . . . and there’s no short-term answer. So now I’m leader of the Scottish opposition, and I get to stand up at First Minister’s questions and bat my successor all around the chamber for his failures in tackling an impossible job that’s made all the harder by financial constraints imposed from London by my own party. I know that power and the responsibility of government is what we’re all about, but there are times when it’s better not to be in the firing line.’
His eyes narrowed slightly as he filled the two mugs. ‘Are you saying that you planned this whole thing?’ he asked.
She winked at him. ‘From about half an hour after Ainsley Glover died and his seat became vacant. I knew we had no chance of winning that by-election. If I’d still been in the coalition, it wouldn’t have made much difference, because the Nats won’t share power with anyone, so . . .’
‘You set yourself up for the chop?’
‘Ever so slightly. Now go and check the bookies and see who’s favourite to win the election next time.’
‘Have you always been this devious?’
‘Bob, I’m a politician.’
He laughed, incredulously. ‘Sure, but for the last four months I’ve been beating myself up because I thought it was me who talked you into leaving the coalition.’
‘As if you could.’
‘So you’re actually just where you want to be.’
‘Yes, and not just politically. I’ve got a new husband, a new family, and a hell of a lot more time to spend with them than I’d have if I was still First Minister.’
‘And after the next election?’
‘That’s another thing about politicians; very few of us ever think that far ahead.’ She took her mug from him and sipped it cautiously. ‘Right now, I’m thinking no further into the future than First Minister’s questions at lunchtime.’
‘I might come and sit in the public gallery,’ Bob suggested.
‘And have the TV cameras pick you out again? You didn’t like it last time that happened.’
‘But neither did the First Minister. He kept glowering up at me.’
‘That was for the cameras too; we had a laugh about it afterwards. He and I get on fine on a personal level. You’ve met him. What do you think?’
‘Clive Graham? On the same personal level? I like him too. On a political level, he’s pro-police, and that’s fine with me.’
Aileen sipped her tea again, found it cooler, and drank some more. ‘And is everything else fine with you, Chief Constable Skinner?’
He smiled at her, from the eyes. ‘I’ve never been happier, my love. I got quite misty-eyed when Jim Gainer blessed our union.’
‘So your daughter noticed. I didn’t, though; my own vision was a bit blurry at the time. But I didn’t mean at home. You’re six months into your new job. Are you fine with that?’
He slipped his empty cereal bowl into the dishwasher, tossed what was left of his tea into the sink, put his mug on the rack, and closed the machine. ‘Truthfully, I’m enjoying it far more than I thought I would. I’ve got a team around me that’s pretty much hand-picked, and I can do the job the way I want to, spreading myself around without getting tied down by paperwork and meetings. Brian Mackie’s the perfect deputy from that point of view, and Maggie Rose is settling in as well as I knew she would as assistant chief. With them, and those two monsters that run CID reporting directly to me . . . I reckon I’ve got the best team in the country. With them to lean on, any idiot could do my job. So yeah, I’m fine.’
‘But restless?’
He frowned at her. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘The idea that you could even contemplate taking the time to come and watch me this lunchtime.’
‘I was kidding. Honest.’ He hesitated. ‘If I seem fidgety, it’s probably because everything’s going too well. Since that fuss last August, there’s been barely a ripple on the surface of Greater Edinburgh.’
‘See, you are doing a great job.’
‘Nobody’s that great. I really don’t like it when it’s as quiet as it’s been. It usually means we’re missing something.’
‘Nah! You’ve scared the bad guys shitless; that’s all there is to it.’
‘If only.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Come on, we’d better say “So long” to the kids and be on our way, or we’ll catch the worst of the traffic.’
‘That’s all right,’ she chuckled. ‘You’re the chief, you can put your blue light on the roof.’
Three
‘This is going to sound terrible,’ the woman began, ‘but what’s your name again?’
Her companion, propped up on his left elbow, grinned down at her. ‘Sauce,’ he said.
‘No,’ she chuckled, ‘my memory’s not that bad. I meant your real name. It was noisy in that Indigo place last night; I couldn’t hear you properly when you told me.’
‘It’s Harold,’ he murmured, as if it was a confession. ‘Harold Haddock. Hence the nickname, get it?’
‘Have they always called you “Sauce”?’
‘From my first day at nursery school.’
‘Nobody ever calls you Harold, or Harry?’
‘Most people don’t even know that’s my name.’
‘I’ll call you Harry, then, from now on . . . unless you hate it, that is.’
He slid his free hand under the duvet and fondled her left breast, tracing his thumb round the areola. ‘You can call me anything you like.’
‘Harry it is, then.’
‘Fine. Now it’s your turn to own up. Why do they call you “Cheeky”, Ms Davis?’
‘It’s my name.’
‘No more than mine’s “Sauce”. Come on, what’s it short for?’
She pouted. ‘Not telling you.’
‘Why not?’
/> ‘Because I hate it.’
‘It can’t be that bad.’
‘It is.’
‘Let me guess.’ He knitted his brow. ‘How about “Rumpelstiltzkin”?’
She laughed. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘OK, let’s try “Chiquitita”. How about that?’
Her eyes widened. ‘How did you . . . Here, did you look in my bag at my driving licence while I was asleep?’
‘No,’ he protested. ‘It was a guess, honest.’
‘Clever boy, eh. If you guessed that you must be able to work out the rest. My mum was a big Abba fan. She saddled me with it. When I was wee my grandma called me “Cheeky” and it stuck.’
‘Hey, it could have been worse,’ Sauce pointed out. ‘It might have been “Waterloo”. Imagine being called after a battle, or a railway station in London. And as for “Fernando”, that definitely would not have worked.’
‘You won’t tell anyone else though, will you? How about I keep calling you “Sauce”, and you keep calling me “Cheeky”?’
‘That’s a deal.’
She slid closer to him. ‘It’s nice this, finding out things about each other.’
He nodded. ‘I know lots about you already, though.’
‘Apart from my real name, you mean?’
‘Sure. For a start, you’re not a real blonde.’
‘And you’re the only guy who’s ever found that out the same night I met him.’ She reached for him. ‘Whereas you, you’re ginger all the way down.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Or up, as the case may be.’ She paused, frowning slightly. ‘I mean that, you know. This is not typical behaviour for me. I’ve always been a hard nut to crack, yet here I am back at your place and doing the deed . . .’ she glanced at her wristwatch, all she was wearing apart from a fine gold neck chain, ‘. . . less than twelve hours after we met. I should feel like a hooker, but I don’t. Maybe I’m a mug, though.’
Gently, he smoothed her hair back from her forehead. ‘No,’ he said, solemnly, ‘you’re not . . . you’re neither. This may sound like a line, coming from a guy, but this is not what I do either. I won’t say I’m a puritan, I’ve had a few girlfriends, but I’ve always been a “one step at a time” sort of bloke. I could not believe that it was me coming on to you last night, but I just couldn’t help myself. I’ve never known anything like this, or anybody like you.’
‘And you seem to be finding out more about me all the time. Go on, then, what else have you discovered?’
‘You’re not from Edinburgh.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because you said it was your first time at Indigo. It’s the best club in town. A girl your age, if she was local, would have been there before now.’
‘All true. And what age am I then?’
‘Not so easy. Twenty?’
‘Thank you, kind sir. Actually I’m twenty-two. And you?’
‘Just turned twenty-five.’
She felt his bicep. ‘And strong with it.’
‘I work out, plus I play a lot of golf.’
‘Are you any good at golf?
‘Category One.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means good.’
‘So, you’re an ace at outdoor sports as well as indoor. That’s something I’ve found out about you. Any more about me?’
‘One last thing. You’ve got lousy taste in friends.’
She frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because the one who took you to Indigo must be a right slapper, if she pulled, then buggered off and left you on your own.’
‘I can look after myself.’
‘I’ve heard a few girls say that, even after they’ve found out different.’
Cheeky drew herself up, until they were eye to eye. ‘And where have you heard them?’ she asked, quietly.
‘In my job. I’m a police officer, a detective constable.’ He watched her face closely, looking for the reaction that he had seen too often before.
The only change in her expression was a coy smile, so faint that it only just touched the corners of her mouth. ‘Mmm,’ she whispered. ‘Are you indeed?’
‘Does that make any difference?’
‘Should it?’
‘It does with some women.’
‘Not with this one. I don’t choose who I fuck on the basis of their occupation.’ She pulled him, drawing him with her as she lay down once more. ‘As I’m about to prove,’ she whispered. ‘Unless,’ she added, ‘you’ve got to go to work, or make some other sort of sharp exit.’
‘Not that sharp; we were late the other night and the overtime budget’s strapped. I don’t start till midday.’
‘You weren’t working last night, were you?’
‘No danger. I was there with Jack . . . my sergeant . . . and his girlfriend. Strictly off duty. Indigo’s a popular hang-out for cops, because it’s well run and there’s never any trouble.’
‘Jack. Was he the big tall guy?’
‘That’s him; Jack McGurk.’
‘His girlfriend looked nice.’
‘She is; they haven’t been together long.’
‘Neither have we.’
‘So that means we are together,’ Sauce ventured.
She rolled him on to his back. ‘What do you think?’ she hissed. ‘Not getting cold feet, are you?’
‘I promise you, Cheeky,’ he replied, ‘at this moment, not one single part of me is cold.’
Four
‘Are you ready for your command group meeting, Chief?’ asked Gerry Crossley. ‘Will I call everybody in?’
Skinner nodded to his office manager. ‘Yes, I’d better get on with it.’ He tossed aside the copy of the Saltire that he had been reading, landing it neatly on top of the pile on his coffee table. ‘That bloody traffic’s getting worse, you know. I’ve just been reading about how tough the recession is, but it seems that more people than ever are going to work in the morning. Do you find that?’
‘It’s hard to tell. The work on the new tram system’s having such an effect.’
The chief constable snorted. ‘Hah! One of the craziest decisions the City of Edinburgh ever made, in my private opinion, pouring incalculable amounts of money into a transportation system that was outmoded fifty years ago. I’m glad I pay my council tax in East Lothian.’ He stood up, behind his desk, and moved towards the informal seating. ‘Ask ACC Steele to come in first,’ he said. ‘I want five minutes with her before the rest join us.’
He was glancing at the Scotsman when he heard a soft knock on the half-opened door. ‘Mags,’ he exclaimed, as the newcomer stepped into his room. His eyebrows rose. ‘In uniform, this early in the morning?’
‘I’m going round the divisional HQs within the city this morning,’ Margaret Rose Steele explained, as she took a seat at the coffee table. ‘I was off for so long that some of them must have forgotten what I look like.’
‘Fat chance. You could have been off for longer, you know. You were entitled to more maternity leave than you took, and the job would have waited for you. There’s no overtime at our level, you know.’
‘How about job-sharing?’ For the merest instant, a hint of alarm showed in his eyes. She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m still living in the real world. Bob, I came back to work this early because I had to. My illness, losing Stevie, having the baby: if I’d stayed away any longer I might have forgotten who I was before it all happened, and who I still am. I’m a police officer, with ambitions that I want to fulfil and a command level job has been one of them for a long time.’
‘And have you settled in? That’s what I wanted to ask you. Is everything OK? Do you have all the support you need?’
The ACC nodded. ‘Everything’s fine. You’ve been great, Brian Mackie’s been great, David Mackenzie’s the picture of efficiency.’
‘How about domestically? Is there any way we can help there?’
‘Again, I’m handling it fine. My sister’s given up any thought of going b
ack to Australia. She’s living with me permanently, working from home and looking after Stephanie. I go home at lunchtime whenever I can, and on the odd occasion that Bet has a presentation, or a meeting, I bring the baby into the office. That’s all the domestic life I want for the moment. I’m not ready for socialising . . . although I did say I’d look in on the Central Division dance on Friday, if only for half an hour or so. Are you and Aileen going?’
Skinner hesitated for a moment. ‘I am,’ he began, ‘but unaccompanied. It might come with the territory for me, but not for my wife. The fact is, Mags, given the size of our force, there are a hell of a lot of social functions through the year. My predecessor regarded it as his duty to go to each and every one, and somehow the organisers got the idea that an invitation was expected. They also came to expect him to put his hand in his pocket for a round of drinks. Cost him several thousand over the years. Maybe you’d put the word around all the divisions, discreetly, mind, that the new incumbent will not take it out on any organisers who leave him off the guest list, and that any who don’t can expect him to turn up in uniform, and loom over the proceedings like a rain cloud. If I want to go to an event I’ll buy a ticket or chip into the kitty like everybody else.’
‘Will do. Does that go for Brian and me too?’
‘Of course, if that’s how you want to play it. I’m not thinking of myself alone here, you understand. I’m as sociable as the next guy, but given Aileen’s position, there’s always going to be someone at these dos who has a few drinks and tries to talk politics. Sure, she could see them off, but why the hell should she have to?’
‘Why indeed?’ Maggie agreed. She smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Bob, but she’s really good for you.’
‘I don’t mind a bit, ’cos you’re right. She found my soft centre right away. Third time lucky, no mistake. I was devastated when Myra died, but there was angst there amidst the bliss. Sarah and me? Sure, we’d the hots for each other at the start, plus at that point in our lives we each needed someone, but it was never quite right. We were very different personalities, and there was a culture clash there from the start. But at least we liked each other enough to part amicably. With Aileen, though . . . sometimes I just can’t believe I’m this happy.’
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