to you to break into the head of CID's Saturday night. But there's
something else we have to face up to as well, and this is why I think
we should sleep on it... apart from the fact that I'm knackered and
cross-eyed from looking at tapes. If we don't find that face in the
crowd, and it's long odds against that we will, then what we have on
our hands is a gathering of Edinburgh's great and good, their spouses,
partners and the rest, every one of whom is a suspected arsonist."
Maggie Rose let out a whistle loud enough to turn heads at the next
table. "You are right," she conceded. "I must have had too much to
drink already. Get on home, Stevie ... or off to wherever you're
expected. I'll see you in the office tomorrow, nine a.m. sharp. We've
got a minefield to find our way through here, and no mistake."
Fifteen.
The car park in front of the Perth divisional office was busier than
might have been expected, even on a Saturday night. A row of lights
blazed in an office suite on the first floor.
"CID," Martin explained. "We didn't see any point in setting up a
mobile enquiry headquarters, just round the corner, especially since
it's no more than a suspicious death, and highly unlikely that it
happened where the body was found, so Rod Greatorix is running the
thing from here."
"I'm impressed," said Bob Skinner. "You've got an unidentified victim,
a bum for all they know, yet you're still pulling out all the stops.
You're making your presence felt already, Andy."
"No, I'm not. This is not the homicide capital of Scotland, but Rod
knows how to go about setting up an investigation as well as if not
better than I do."
The older man grunted. "I suppose he does. Sorry, Andy, that was pure
bloody arrogance on my part. I know about Greatorix; he was head of
CID here when I had the job in Edinburgh. He's sound, all right. I'll
make all the right noises when I meet him, don't worry. How much did
you tell him, by the way?"
"Only that I had a positive ID on the victim, and that he should meet
me here at ten. I didn't see the point in saying anything about you
till we got there."
He saw Skinner's grim smile in the dashboard light. "That'll be a nice
surprise for him, then," his friend murmured. "Let's go and see
him."
Martin gripped the door handle, then hesitated. "Okay, but before
that, will you do something for me, as my closest friend?"
"Maybe. What?"
"Will you phone Sarah?"
"Pass."
"Bob, please. You've got a hold of yourself now, but I've never seen
you like you were before. I'm worried about you."
"You think I'm going to keel over again? Don't worry, I won't."
"I know that, but it just seems to me that you've got stress coming at
you from all angles just now. If you talk to Sarah and get everything
on an even keel with her, it's got to help."
Skinner gave a small growl in the darkness. "Martin, sometimes you are
just full of the naivety of youth. But if it'll keep you happy.. ."
"It will. Here, you can use my phone."
"Don't be daft, I've got my own. Now step outside, will you. So far
tonight you've seen me cry like a baby. I don't want you to see me
crawl as well."
Andy laughed as he stepped out of the Mondeo and closed the door behind
him. Inside the car, Skinner took out his cellphone and scrolled
through the phonebook until he found the number of the Buffalo house.
He pressed the green button and waited; the call was answered on the
third ring, by a Scots voice, that of Trish the nanny.
"I'm sorry, Bob," she said. "Sarah isn't back from her trip yet; she
called me to say not to expect her until later on."
"Do you know where she is?"
"No. She said it was to do with the estate, that's all."
"Okay, thanks."
He closed the line and was about to put the phone back in his pocket
when he saw Andy standing expectantly in the car park. "Shit," he
muttered and scrolled through the stored numbers once more until he
found Sarah's cellphone, and dialled it.
Three thousand miles away Sarah swung her legs out of Ron Neidholm's
bed and picked up her Nokia. She looked at the incoming number, and
for a second her thumb hovered over the red off-switch until, with a
sigh, she took the call.
"Yes, Bob," she said, loud enough for Ron to hear her and firmly enough
for him to know to keep quiet.
"Where are you?" her husband asked. "What's this trip Trish told me
about?"
"I've been to the cabin."
"What! You told me you never wanted to see it."
"I know, but I changed my mind. I felt that I had to visit it."
"Are you still there?"
"No," she said, truthfully. "I'm on my way back," she lied.
"How did you get there?"
She thought, quickly; at the same time picking her shirt from the floor
with her free hand and covering her lap with it, in an automatic
gesture, as if he had found them and was standing in the doorway. "One
of the lawyers took me," she said, 'in a private plane, then in a hire
car. Now why the interrogation?"
"I'm sorry," Bob replied, at once. "You took me by surprise, that's
all."
"So we're both good at that. Now what is it?"
"Need it be anything? Can't I just be calling you?"
"If you're calling to say you're catching the first flight over, yes
you can. If not, then what I said yesterday still counts."
"Sarah, I can't do that."
"Okay, have your damn medical next week. Once you're cleared for duty,
take some family time and come across."
"I can't do that either, love. Something's come up, apart from the
job."
"What? Have you had another incident?" For the first time she sounded
anxious.
"No, I'm fine."
"Is it Alex? Is something wrong with her? Or Andy, or his baby?"
"No, none of that. I'm in Perth now; wee Danielle's magic, really, and
Karen's doing great. No, it's something else, a personal thing, a
long, involved story that I should have told you a long time ago. I
can't now, though, not over the phone. Sarah, I really would like it
if you'd come home. Just for a week or so, even. I need your
support."
"Hah!" Her laugh was harsh and brittle. "Those words sound familiar.
Last time they were used between us, I was saying them to you. I
needed you, Bob, to help me cope with my parents' death, to be there
when I went through my mother's belongings, to help me with questions
about the estate and to advise me about things in which you've got much
more experience than I have. I needed your support then, and I begged
you for it. And what did you do? You caught the first fucking plane
out of here, that's what you did. Well that is exactly what I'm not
going to do.
Something's come up for me too, and I'm staying right here."
She could almost hear him struggle to keep his voice even. "Sarah, I
need you with me."
"So? You'll just have to do what I did, and tough it out. Maybe then
you'll find out what I did, all of a sudden. I don't fucking need you
... for anything!"
She jumped up, ripped the battery from her cellphone, and threw the
separate pieces, tangled in her shirt, across Ron Neidholm's bedroom.
When she turned back towards him he was there, by her side, to wrap her
in his arms, as she exploded into tears.
Back in Perth, Bob Skinner stared at his dead phone, his face twisted
with anger. He realised that he was breathing hard, and forced himself
to bring it back to normal. When he was back in control, he closed his
eyes. "What do you want, man?" he asked himself aloud. "Maybe she's
right, maybe you did let her down. Maybe we're both right. What the
fuck, someone's got to give. So let's just do what she says. Have the
medical, see Maley's lot off, then go over there like she wants."
He found Sarah's number again and called it, but it came up
unobtainable. "Playing that game, eh," he muttered, his anger flaring
once again. "You can bloody well stay in the States, then, but not
with my kids."
He shoved the phone roughly back into his pocket and stepped out of the
car. Andy Martin looked at him, hopefully. "Bad idea, Andy," Skinner
snapped.
"Do you want me to talk to her?"
"Like I said earlier, don't you fucking dare. Now let's see your
colleagues."
He strode off, ahead of his friend, towards the police building. DCS
Rod Greatorix was standing in the entrance hallway, beside the public
reception desk. A bewildered look spread across his great gruff face
as Skinner burst through the entrance door. He looked at the newcomer,
and then at Martin, behind him.
"Andy?" he began.
"Let's go somewhere private, Rod," his deputy chief replied.
"By all means. Through here." He led them up a flight of stairs, then
along a corridor to a small office, glass-panelled like the rest of the
suite. Several detectives were working in other rooms; one or two
glanced at them, briefly, as they passed.
"Would anybody like coffee, or tea... or something stronger?" the head
of CID asked, as the others took seats, facing the small desk that was
the room's only furniture.
"I'm fine, thanks," said Skinner curtly.
Martin shook his head. "I didn't want to get into this over the phone,
Rod," he began, 'and neither did Bob .. . whom you know, of course."
"Of course I do." Greatorix nodded and smiled. "It's been a year or
two, sir; that course at Tulliallan, wasn't it. That was the last time
we met."
"Yup. We were both lecturing, as I recall. A distinguished class; one
of our students is a chief constable now, and another's in the police
inspectorate. I'm not here to lecture now, though."
"Then what is it?"
"I'm here to help you with your enquiries."
Greatorix gave him a look of pure incredulity, then he leaned back in
his chair and smiled. "Is that right? Are you going to tell me that
it was you who banged that bloke on the head and chucked him in the
Tay?"
Skinner looked him in the eye, unsmiling. "There was a time, Rod, when
I wanted to do just that, but it's long gone. No, I'm just going to
tell you who he is. You'd better tape it, for the record."
The Tay side detective had switched into serious mode. "Just a minute
then," he said. "I'll find a recorder from somewhere. Will we need a
second officer present?"
"Andy's the second officer."
"Of course." Greatorix left the room.
Skinner turned to Martin. "I've never told you much about my father,
have I?"
His friend shook his head. "No, but I don't suppose I've ever told you
much about mine."
"I've met your father, for Christ's sake. But no, it's true, I
haven't. I'm not a demonstrative guy, Andy. Quick-tempered, yes, but
on a personal level I'm not good at discussing my feelings. That's
why, in my past, I've been able to bury things so deep. Maybe that's
why Sarah and I are in trouble now. I'm not the sort of person who can
just laugh and kiss it off,
and she isn't either. There were all sorts of things I never knew
about Leo and Susannah Grace, until after I'd seen them stretched out
on mortuary tables. And when I think about it, there are all sorts of
things I don't know about Sarah herself. When I went to Buffalo for
the first time without her and met her friends, it was like they were
talking about someone I hadn't met. And now she's back over there,
with her own agenda, it's as if the part of her I don't know has come
to the surface and taken over. She went on about needing me, but I
can't see for what.
"None of us ever think of ourselves as bad communicators, until we
realise how little we know ourselves." He caught Martin's eye. "How
about you and Karen? Do you talk to each other, about each other?"
Andy laughed, softly. "Bob, before Karen and I got together, each of
us lived our private lives so openly that there was hardly anything
about either of us that was news to the other. But yes, we do; we
share things. I hardly go to church any more, but Karen's my
confessional, and I'm hers. I wouldn't like to think that I'd any
secrets from her."
"That's good. Sarah and I should learn from you .. . but then again,
she may have secrets that I wouldn't want to know about, and I don't
know if I could bring myself to tell her all of mine."
"That's for you both to judge; but at the very least, talking about the
problem has to help. Anyway, you started to talk about your father.
What was he like?"
"William Reid Skinner? He was a hell of a man. All of my life I've
tried to live up to him, and all of my life I've fallen short."
"Most of us think of our fathers that way, Bob."
"Maybe, but that's how mine was. He was a lawyer, like Sarah's dad,
and as successful in his own way, by Scottish standards. He was a
quiet man, very dignified and very controlled. You couldn't make him
lose his temper even if you tried. He never raised a hand to me in my
childhood; indeed I don't remember him ever raising his voice.
"I asked him once how he could be like that. He told me that he left
that part of himself in the war. When I asked him what he did, he
looked away from me, and he said, "I killed people, Robert". When I
asked him where he fought, he wouldn't tell me at first, but I pressed
him. Eventually he said that he'd been in France in 1942, and later in
Yugoslavia and Greece. You know what that meant."
He frowned. "When I got involved with MI5 and such, I asked our friend
Adam Arrow in the Ministry of Defence to find out if there was a file
on him anywhere. There is; it's among a batch that are still sealed,
but Adam told me roughly what was in it. D'you know, he won the George
fucking Cross, Andy, but he never told me. He must have thrown it
away, because there was no sign of it among his effects after he died,
nor any reference to it.
"You know what Adam's like, and some of the things he's done. Well,
when he told me about my fathe
r.. . Man, there was respect in his
voice, bordering on .. ."
The door opened, interrupting him. "Sorry to have taken so long," said
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