"Big Bob's predicament, probably. How was he looking?"
"From what I saw at a distance, he was looking very fit. Do you think
he'll get back? Or do you think Councillor Maley's lot have got him
this time?"
"They see the chance," Maggie answered. "What they're lacking are
brains, resources and courage. He'll get back all right."
"I'm glad you think so. I don't know about you, but with him gone, I
find Dan Pringle becoming more and more unbearable as head of CID."
Then he smiled, as if he was anticipating something pleasant. "Here,
it strikes me that those characters are lacking something else too."
"What's that?"
"Foresight. They can't imagine what's going to happen after he does
get back."
Eleven.
Essentially, mortuaries are the same in every town, every city, every
First World country. Bob Skinner had been in a few, including,
recently, one in the USA, where he had identified the bodies of Sarah's
parents; he knew that if there was a qualitative difference, it sprang
from the thoughtfulness of the staff, in the way they prepared what the
viewer was going to see, and in the way they prepared him to see it.
The mortuary at Perth Royal Infirmary was one of the better ones. There
was a private viewing room, and the senior attendant took pains to
explain to Skinner that the body was still subject to post-mortem
examination, and therefore it had not been possible to prepare it
cosmetically for inspection.
"What I see is what I get," the big policeman said, tersely. "Is that
what you're trying to tell me?"
The attendant hesitated. "Well.. ." he began.
Skinner put aside his loathing of the aftermath of death, and smiled,
making a conscious effort to respond to what he knew was kindly meant.
"It's all right, I understand. And I appreciate it. It's okay; I'm
ready. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, I realise that
I've been expecting a moment like this for years." Behind him, Andy
Martin frowned, but said nothing. "So just wheel him in and let me
have a look."
"Certainly." The attendant nodded and left the room through big double
doors, rubber-trimmed to cut down the noise of their crashing together.
A minute or so later the doors swung open, seemingly of their own
volition at first, but pushed by the attendant as he backed through
them, pulling a trolley, with a younger assistant on the other end.
Until that moment, Bob Skinner had not been aware of the whirring of
the fan, but he noticed it at the same moment that he smelled what was
under the white sheet, and he was grateful for it.
"Will I turn back the sheet now, sir?" the attendant asked.
"No, I'll do it," Skinner replied. "But I'd appreciate it if you all
left me alone for a minute or two."
"Whatever you wish." The man pointed to a button on the wall. "Just
push that bell when you're finished. You don't need to wait for us."
"Fine."
The two staff members left by the double doors, while Martin withdrew
through the door at the other end of what was in effect a corridor.
Left alone, Skinner took a deep breath and composed himself, gathering
together thoughts and memories that he had buried for years. Finally,
he took a deep breath and drew back the sheet that covered the bulky
shape on the trolley.
He had been expecting to see what he did, and he had known who the dead
man was from the moment Andy had shown him the photograph, yet it still
made him wince, and give a small gasp. The body had been stripped, and
washed clean of mud; he pulled the sheet back to the waist and looked
down at it from the side. The skin was pale and flaccid. The hair on
its head was still thick, and grey, although it too had been carefully
washed, and the dampness made it look darker, he guessed, than it had
been in life. The arms were folded across the belly and he could see,
on the left wrist, the mark that Martin had mentioned, the one that had
aroused his suspicions. He leaned down and peered at it closely, then
smiled, faintly.
He walked round to the other side of the trolley and looked at the
broken skin on the side of the head. "Where are you when I need you,
Doctor Sarah?" he whispered. "What would you be telling me now?" He
laughed. "Not to touch him for a start, but what would you be looking
for?"
He pulled the sheet back completely and examined the body carefully.
There were several bruises on the arms, legs and chest. He had learned
enough about pathology from his wife to know what, normally, that would
mean. He checked for lividity patches, but found none. Finally, he
took another long look at the dead man's face. It had changed, in the
many years since last he had seen it, but not beyond recognition, not
even in death.
"So long," he whispered, and covered the body once more. Then he
turned, pushed the button on the wall and walked out of the viewing
room, to rejoin his friend.
"Well?" Andy asked.
"There are no signs of blood settlement," Skinner replied; he kept
moving, leading the way out of the mortuary wing and into the hospital
itself. "He wasn't left lying anywhere for any significant time after
death. That probably means that he died just before he was put in the
water, or was hit over the head, chucked in and left to drown. You'll
need to wait for the pathologist to tell you that.
"Did you look at the other wrist, when you found him?"
"No."
Skinner shook his head and made a tut ting sound. "You'd kick a DC for
missing the obvious, Mr. Martin," he said. "There was no mark on the
right wrist; the one on the left goes all the way round. So?"
His friend looked at him, sheepishly. "Wristwatch," he murmured. "The
man was wearing a watch with a leather strap. Immersion in water made
the body swell, until eventually, it burst."
"Exactly. If you go back and have another look in the old lady's
basement..." he said, then stopped and moved on.
"As for the rest, there appear to be superficial marks to the face and
hands, sustained after death, in the water, I'd say, and there's
significant bruising all over the body. All the damage may have been
done after death, but it's also possible that someone gave him a good
going over with some sort of a club: a claw hammer maybe."
He strode on, briskly, until finally they emerged from the infirmary
building into the late mid-summer evening, and stopped in the car
park.
"That's all very useful, Bob," said Andy. "I'll pass it on to Rod
Greatorix. If you've got any idea where the hammer was bought that
would be good too."
Skinner grinned. "Command rank has changed you, pal; clearly you've
taken the senior officers' sarcasm course."
"Maybe so, but I'm still waiting for the thing that no one else can
tell me. Who is, or who was that back there?"
"In time," his friend replied. "I'm still digesting it, and I really
don't want to go into it here. Now if you're going to keep your
promise and
introduce me to your new daughter, we'd better get going or Karen'll
have put her down to sleep for the night." He opened the door of his
BMW and nodded towards Martin's car. "Lead on, I'll follow."
While Perth likes to think of itself as a city, even in Scottish terms
it is no more than a medium-sized town. They arrived at the Martins'
house on the hill in a little under ten minutes. Karen looked Skinner
up and down as he stepped into the hall. The last of the detective
sergeant's deference had gone from her; now she was every inch the
deputy chief's wife. "You're supposed to be ill," she exclaimed;
'unfit for duty. You look like you're in training for the Olympics."
"I am, in a way," Bob replied, with a grin. "I go for my gold medal
next week."
"I hope you make it."
"I will, don't you worry."
"Be sure you do. More people than you can imagine are missing you."
"Not for much longer. Come on, where's this wee lass of yours?"
She led him into the living room, where Danielle lay in the modern
equivalent of a carry-cot. She was awake and restless, aware somewhere
that her last feed of the day was due. "Hey, you little beauty," said
Skinner, 'may you have your mother's looks and your mother's brains, as
someone once said." He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a
small package, which he handed to Karen. "Teething ring and a dummy,"
he muttered. "Don't fall for that crap about dummies being bad for
them. They're not, and they're great for parents; essential, we've
found."
Then he reached into another pocket and produced an envelope. "That's
for her too, from us." He passed it to Andy, then dropped into an
armchair.
"What is it?" his friend asked.
"It's a bond, for three grand. It'll mature in eighteen years, when
Danielle's university age, and there should be enough there by then to
keep her out of too much debt."
Bob! "Karen exclaimed.
"Shush. I've done as much and more for my kids and I'll do it for
yours; it's all the more appropriate that I do now." He grinned. "Just
don't have too many, that's all!"
"Thanks, Bob," Andy said, 'from all of us. But what did you mean by
appropriate?"
Skinner sighed. "Sit down and I'll tell you."
"This sounds serious," Karen murmured, picking up the carry-basket. "So
while you do, I'm going to feed the baby and put her down for the
night. Then I'll feed us. Bob, are you staying?"
"If I'm invited. I've brought some kit."
"Good." She left the room, carrying her daughter.
"Well?" asked Andy, sitting in the spare armchair.
Skinner looked his friend in the eye, holding his gaze steady.
"Remember, when once I said to you that you were like the brother I
never had?"
Martin nodded.
"Well, that wasn't quite true." He paused, opened his mouth to speak
again, only to let out another deeper sigh. He sat there staring
straight ahead for countless seconds. A CD had been playing in the
background, unnoticed; now Eddi Reader's crystal voice, singing of
perfection, seemed to fill the room. Finally, he blinked and went on.
"That man," he said. "That man you met in Miss Bonney's basement
today: he was my brother too."
And then something happened: something that at first amazed Andy, then
filled him with a sudden, scary panic; something that he had never seen
before, nor ever imagined he would see.
Bob Skinner, his mighty, impregnable friend, buried his face in his
hands and began to cry, his chest and shoulders heaving in great,
wracking, uncontrollable sobs.
Twelve.
"You sure about this?" The upstairs room was light and airy; the
window was open and sunshine poured in. They had made good time on the
flight back from the lakeside cabin; it was still afternoon in Buffalo,
New York.
Sarah lifted the light duvet and looked down at him. "At this moment,
you are asking me that? It's pretty obvious that you're sure."
"Ah, but he's got a mind of his own, and no conscience; I have both."
She moved her hands down and took hold of him, gently. "If we're clear
that, for now, all I'm doing is renewing an acquaintance with an old
friend, then yes, I'm certain. And believe me, if you look closely
enough in the right places, you'll find visible evidence of that too.
So shut up; don't try and find the way you never had with words, not
now."
"Nuh," he grinned, then rolled over, covering her and letting her guide
him, in a single movement. She cried out as she felt all of his great
length slide slowly and rock hard into her, then thrust herself upward,
forcefully, as if she wanted even more. He felt her squeeze him inside
and almost came, but he hung on as she did so, keeping perfectly still
against the clenching and unclenching of her buttocks as she drove at
him, feeling her fingers digging into his back as her frenzy grew.
Finally, her frantic movement slowed, and she began to relax; she felt
the moistness, but realised that it was hers. He began his own thrusts
then, short and slow, taking his time, keeping his weight off her,
keeping most of himself out of her, concentrating on her pleasure
point, until she began to come again. When she did, he was ready for
her; she swung up her strong legs, gripping him as he rode all the way
back intc her, as they climaxed together, heaving, gasping, crying,
until at last, they were both spent.
Afterwards, they lay there, side by side once more while their
breathing softened, and their hearts slowed. "Wow," she whispered.
"Did you rob a sperm bank? I thought you were never going to stop."
"Nah," he chuckled. "I've just been saving it for a special
occasion."
"That sure of yourself, uh?"
"I wouldn't say that, but ever since I saw you at the Walkers' last
weekend, and after I heard how things were with you and your husband,
I've just had a feeling that this was going to happen. Don't tell me
that you haven't."
She touched his face. "No, I won't. It was no more than a twitch in
my pants at first, but after our date alone on Monday, I knew it too.
And today, after we got back from the cabin, I didn't want to, I
couldn't, wait any longer."
"For which I am eternally thankful."
They lay in silence, for a while, until eventually a great hand slid up
and cupped a heavy breast.
"I won't ask you whether you'll go back," he said softly. But what if
he comes for you? Am I going to have to fight him for you, d' you
reckon?"
"No way," she answered. "Even if I decided that I wanted to be with
you for good, I wouldn't let you anywhere near him."
He grinned. "Of course you wouldn't. I forgot; that was a damn silly
thing to ask, him with heart trouble and all, not to mention me having
ten years and more on him, and a great chunk of weight. I promise,
even if he comes at me, I won't hurt him."
Sarah propped herself up on an elbow, and looked down at him,
unsmiling. "You don't get it, do you? F
or a start, Bob doesn't have
heart trouble, not as you mean it. He has an inherited condition which
would probably have passed over in time, but which has been treated, as
a precaution, by the fitting of a pacemaker. Physically, there's
nothing else wrong with him; as a matter of fact, for his age, he's
fitter than anyone I've ever seen. All else aside, he's at least as
fit as you.
"No, my darling, I won't tell Bob about you, even if I decide that he
and I are split for good, not for his safety, but for yours."
"Uhh?" Incredulous, he looked at her, and then he laughed. She put a
finger to his lips, silencing him.
"Ron," she said, 'you may be a professional athlete, and you may be as
big as you are, but my husband could take you apart, piece by piece."
Hurt pride showed on his face. "You what? You think I can't look
after myself?"
"I know you can, on the football field, but this is not a game, and Bob
does not play. He is trained, and he's trained himself, to fight for
his life, if necessary. There was a time, a few years ago, when he had
to, against a real killer, a monster, a man who was far bigger even
than you. When the cavalry got there, the guy was unconscious; he
didn't come round until he was in Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. Believe
Thursday Legends Page 9