Thursday Legends

by Quintin Jardine

  Neidholm's death."

  "His murder, you mean?" she exclaimed.

  "I suppose, although technically we haven't yet ruled out suicide."

  "Ron?" she exclaimed. "Kill himself? You have to be kidding."

  "Like I said, it's a theoretical possibility, that's all."

  "I should think so, "Alice chuckled. "But what about my deposition?

  It was all true, every word of it. I saw Sarah Grace and Ron necking

  at his front door, and later when I drove past I saw her through his

  window. She was smiling, like in a, you know, contented ... to be

  polite .. . way, and she was putting on her bra, although she didn't

  seem to be in too much of a hurry about it."

  "You must have driven past pretty slowly," said Madigan, with an

  apparently amiable smile.

  Mrs. Bierhoff missed the point. "I always do. I never exceed the

  speed limit in the neighbourhood ... or anywhere, for that matter," she

  added hurriedly. "But of course, having seen what I saw earlier, I was

  naturally curious when I drove back."

  "Are you sure Dr. Grace didn't see you?" asked Brady.

  "Absolutely. From the look on her face she was only seeing one thing.

  Poor Ron," she sighed, a finger going to her eyelashes, wiping away a

  non-existent tear. "He was a bit of a legend at school and at college,

  you know. All the girls were jealous of Sarah, when she landed him,

  and we were so surprised when she dumped him."

  "Are they still jealous?" asked Madigan.

  "We've all moved on since then," said Alice, in a tone that was almost

  matronly. "It's Sarah's husband I feel sorry for, having been in the

  same position myself. I was out of town when it happened, but I heard

  about him collapsing at the funeral. Next thing, almost as soon as the

  poor man's recovered and gone back to his job in Scotland, she's making

  whoopee with her old boyfriend. The poor man." She paused, and

  gasped, as a thought came to her. "Hey, you don't think it could have

  been him killed Ron, do you?"

  I wish, thought Skinner, by the window.

  "Absolutely not," said Brady. "Chief Skinner was in Scotland when it

  happened. To get back to your deposition, Mrs. Bierhoff," he

  continued, hurriedly, 'we'd like to add to it by asking you who you

  might have told about what you saw?"

  "But that was in my statement. I told Babs Walker; I mean I felt that

  I had to. She's Sarah's best friend, and always has been. I thought

  that she might be able to talk some sense into her, or at least, to

  tell her to be more discreet. When you get down to it, I suppose, you

  can hardly blame her. Ron is such a stud, and Sarah's husband's quite

  a bit older than she is, but still.. . poor man."

  Watching Brady, Skinner could see that the back of his neck had gone

  red. "I suppose Babs maybe told Ian," Alice went on, 'although that

  might have been awkward."

  "Why?" asked Madigan.

  "Because he was there before Ron of course," she said. "Ian and Sarah

  were close all through school, and then when they got to college .. .

  before he ever took up with Babs, of course .. . they got even closer,

  as close as you can get in fact. Sarah left Ian for Ron. He put a

  brave face on it at the time, but I could tell the poor boy was

  hurting. So maybe it wouldn't have been the kindest thing for Babs to

  tell him they were back together again."

  Skinner stood, impassive, listening; he wanted to ask the next

  question, but he knew that he could not let her hear his accent. Even

  Alice would make four out of that.

  "But apart from Mrs. Walker," Madigan went on. "Did you tell anyone

  else?"

  Alice frowned; the wrinkling of her forehead seemed to age her five

  years in an instant. "No, I don't think so." She paused. "I told

  Mary Maggs, my cleaning lady, but she doesn't know anyone around here,

  plus she's seventy-one years old. And I told Candy Brew at the

  library, but Candy's discretion personified. And that's it; honest

  injun."

  Brady nodded, put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his

  feet. Madigan took the cue and rose also. "In that case," said the

  chief, 'we won't occupy any more of your time."

  "A pleasure," Alice answered, vacuously. She glanced at her watch.

  "My, it's almost time for me to go pick up Byron." She showed them to

  the door, smiling briefly at Skinner on the way out. He gave her a

  blank, expressionless stare in return. Her eyes flickered uncertainly,

  but she said nothing, holding the door open for them and waving a quick

  goodbye as she closed it on them.

  "Well?" Bob asked as they walked down the drive to Brady's car.

  "Walker? I don't think so for a minute."

  "There you go assuming again, Eddie," the Scot snapped. "It's a new

  line of enquiry. Will you follow it up, or will I?"

  "Okay, okay. We'll look at it."

  "And what about this Candy Brew? Did Neidholm have any history with

  her?"

  Both detectives laughed. "You can forget that, sir," said Madigan.

  "Candy is short for Candrace. He's a guy."

  Fifty-One.

  Maggie glanced at her watch as the living-room door opened and he came

  in; it showed a minute or two after seven-thirty. "Straight home or

  via Leith?" she asked.

  He frowned. "I thought you weren't going to ask questions like that

  any more."

  "Yes, I know you did, but the thing is, in spite of everything I'm

  still a woman. And you know us girlies, Mario. We can be fickle."

  "As it happens, straight home," he told her, brusquely. "I had a late

  briefing with the team."

  "You mean you took them for a pint?"

  "Something like that. I had an unexpected visitor earlier on; that

  knocked my schedule for the rest of the day."

  "Poor you. Well, now you're here, grab yourself a beer and sit down.

  I've got something to tell you."

  He looked at her, his curiosity aroused; almost for the first time, he

  noticed that she was wearing her pale blue silk dressing gown and that

  the hair at the back of her neck was wet from the shower. He threw his

  jacket across a chair and headed for the kitchen, only to pause at the

  door. "Can I get you something?" he asked.

  She picked up an empty glass from the floor and held it out for him.

  "You can get me another g and t, if you like. And remember, no

  lemon."

  "I know you don't take lemon."

  Maggie smiled cheerfully. "Sorry. I said it just in case you got me

  confused with someone else." The thought crossed his mind that she

  might be having more than her second drink, but he took the heavy

  tumbler from her without comment.

  He was back in less than a minute, a tin of Stella Artois in one hand

  and his wife's gin and tonic in the other. He handed it to her and

  settled on to the couch beside her. "Okay," he said. "What have you

  got to tell me?"

  "A few things, but first things first. I had a call late this

  afternoon from our very efficient solicitor. The deal is done with the

  Chamberlains. We've agreed to surrender custody, and they've agreed

  without prompting that Rufus can spend four we
eks out of every year,

  outside the school terms of course, with his big sister and

  brother-in-law."

  In spite of himself, Mario let the pang of regret that shot through him

  show on his face. "That was quick," he muttered.

  "No point in hanging about; it wouldn't have been fair to keep the

  child in limbo."

  "When?"

  "They're driving up on Saturday. They'll come to pick him up on Sunday

  morning and go straight back to Hampshire. That means you can still

  take him out this weekend."

  "No," he countered, 'it means we can. We'll both take him somewhere;

  give him a treat."

  "Work permitting."

  "Fuck work. Some things are more important."

  Maggie drained a third of her gin and tonic. "Bloody hell!" she

  exclaimed. "Was that Mario McGuire who just said that? The next head

  ofCID?"

  "What's got into you, tonight?" he asked, smiling for the first time

  since he had come in. "Apart from half a bottle of gin, that is. Hope

  you put the wee fella to bed the right way up."

  Maggie chuckled. "He's fine, don't you worry. Sound asleep."

  "So I guess I'm making the dinner."

  Somehow, without him noticing, the distance between them on the couch

  had closed. What he did notice was that her robe had loosened, and

  that her right breast had slipped loose. "Maybe I've got other plans,"

  she whispered. Holding her glass steady she stood up; the sash of her

  dressing gown untangled and the garment fell open. "Someone I like

  very much gave me a pep-talk today; and some very sound advice too.

  I've decided to follow it."

  "And have you got to get drunk to do it?" he asked, as he looked up at

  her.

  "If that's what it takes, won't it be worth it? Come on." She turned

  and walked, steadily and purposefully, towards the door. Mario rose

  and followed her.

  When he reached what had become her bedroom, the silk gown was on the

  floor, and the glass was on the bedside cabinet, empty. She stood

  there naked, as full-bodied and surprisingly provocative as ever she

  had been. As he gazed at her, she moved towards him and began to

  unbutton his shirt. He saw that her hand was trembling; the drink had

  not dulled her fear of what they were about to do. He held it and

  stilled it, then ripped off his tie with one hand.

  And then their eyes met.

  "You don't really want this, do you?" she asked, with the hint of a

  sob in her voice.

  He shook his head. "No. And neither do you. Even if the thing itself

  was nothing to you, you wouldn't really want to; not with me. Isn't

  that true?"

  She nodded. "It is," she exclaimed, with a great sadness. "It's got

  nothing to do with Paula, either. It's you, Mario. It's in your eyes

  when you look at me. You know all there is to know about me, and what

  happened to me, and because of it, you can't keep distaste from showing

  in your eyes. You'll try if I really ask you, because you care for me

  and you're a good man, but it'll always be there, and you'll never be

  able to help it. I'm not the same person I was to you before, and I

  never can be again."

  He looked at her, saying nothing, but admitting with his eyes the truth

  of what she said.

  "But it's me too," she went on, 'for exactly the same reason. Because

  you know, you can't ever be the same person to me again either."

  "No," he muttered at last. "I can't. We're done, Mags."

  He stepped over to what had been their bed, and sat on it, heavily. "I

  had a pep-talk myself today," he said. "Neil was the unexpected

  visitor I mentioned. He came to see me about something he's working

  on, but then he got ripped into me, about the way I've been behaving,

  about the way people have seen me treat you. He made me realise that I

  was fooling myself, thinking we could go on as we were."

  "Not you alone," she told him, 'but us. I thought I'd be fine with the

  way it was. I was even going to send Paula flowers and a thank you

  note."

  "Hah! She'd have loved that. No, Mags, if I was a bit short when I

  came in tonight, it was because I'd worked myself up to tell you that

  I'm leaving, as soon as Rufus goes. For a moment there, I thought

  there was a glimmer, but you're right; it's gone too far for us both.

  What I really wanted you to believe, though, and I still do, is that

  I'm doing it for the reason Neil more or less battered into me; I'm

  doing it for your sake, and for the sake of your career."

  She sat beside him, and took his hand. "I do believe you," she

  whispered. "Like I said, you're a good guy." She paused. "Will you

  go to Paula?"

  He shook his head at once. "No. That would be as wrong as if I

  stayed. I'm not being seen to leave you and move in with another

  woman."

  "Will you keep seeing her?"

  "Would it bother you?"

  "Not a bit. And why should it, if it hasn't up to now?"

  "Then to be honest with myself as well as you, I probably will. It

  might fizzle out, or it might go on for thirty years. Who knows? But

  I don't think we'll ever live together. I don't know if I ever told

  you, but the family trust owns Uncle Beppe's place. Auntie Sophia's

  going to live with Nana Viareggio for good, so it's going begging. I'll

  move in there, and you can stay on in this house, if you want to,"

  "Don't you want your share of it?"

  He grinned, and shook his head. "I don't need it, honey. Anyway,

  you'll have this and more coming in a property split."

  "No!" Her vehemence surprised him. "You give me this house and

  that'll do me. I don't want any more. I owe you, Mario. I owe you my

  life, and I'll never forget it. I'm not going to stay here for long,

  though."

  "I can understand that. That's a deal then. I'll clear off what's

  left of the mortgage and you can sell it." He paused. "Of course,

  maybe if we both moved somewhere else, together..."

  She squeezed his hand, and gave him a sad smile. "You don't really

  believe that, any more than I do. You said it earlier; we're done. It

  wasn't all bad, though, was it?"

  "No, it was not. In fact, I have to tell you that if you were, like

  you say, faking it all along, you had your act honed to perfection."

  "You gave me plenty of practice." She was suddenly aware of her

  nakedness. She picked up the silk robe and put it on. "So, you want

  to go and get a take-away?" she asked, matter-of-fact. "You must be

  starving."

  He stood up from the bed, and retrieved his tie. "Yeah, okay. Pizza,

  kebab, or curry?"

  "Fish and chips."

  He laughed. "Trust you to be difficult." He put his hand on the door

  knob, then stopped. "Mags, tell me something. When did it all go down

  the pan?"

  She took a quick breath. "When I told you about myself, all about

  myself. I think we were done from then on. If I'd done it at the very

  start, maybe we'd never have got married, and then we'd have been

  spared the grief."

  "In that case," he replied, "I'm glad you didn't. For the good times

  we had, the grief's been
well worth it."

  Fifty-Two.

  "Bob, you have to head Brady off before he embarrasses himself," Sarah

  protested. "He can't possibly imagine that Ian Walker could have had