'Oh yes, she's involved. She runs the deli down in Stockbridge. But she has other interests.'
'Such as?'
'Saunas.'
'You mean brothels?'
Mario grunted. 'You might say that, but I couldn't possibly comment.
She owns three licensed saunas in central Edinburgh that belonged original y to Tony Manson; she bought them when his estate put them on the market. You know the way those places run.'
'She bought them with what? Family money?'
'No. Neither my mum nor I would have stood still for it if she'd done that.'
'How could you have stopped it?'
'We'd have raised hell with Beppe, and if that wasn't enough, we'd have got my nana to veto it. My uncle would never disobey her. No, 38
Paula used her own dough to buy those businesses . . . but I don't know where she got it.'
'Are you saying that your cousin's dodgy?'
'I'm saying that when I was in Special Branch, I went so far as to keep a private file on her. There's nothing in it to prove that she's bent, but I've been a copper long enough to worry about her. I like Paula, you see; she's got a wildness about her, same as I used to have, til I met you.
What she's doing just now is within the law as it stands. I keep tabs on her so that if she ever looks like stepping across the line, I'll be there to haul her back.'
She settled back down beside him. 'Have you spoken to your mother about this?'
'I don't need to. She's got her eye on the ball, and on Paula as well.'
'Hmm,' she murmured. 'So why this family party, I wonder?'
'Dunno. Maybe it's my nana's idea. Could be; her word's still law. For all she's eighty-seven, Uncle Beppe stil jumps when she barks. Anyway, we'l find out on Wednesday. That's when it is.'
'Have I got to go?'
'Like I said, you're specifically invited, my dear.'
'Yes. But have I got to go?'
She could sense his smile in the dark. 'I'd like you to. With that lot, I might need a witness.'
Bob Skinner's mobile phone stored ninety-nine numbers; he flicked through the index until he found number sixty-six, then pushed the rapid-dial button.
The cal was answered, on the third ring, by a woman. In that instant, the policeman was taken by surprise; his friend was single ... or had been the last time they had spoken. 'Is that the Doherty residence?' he asked.
'Sure. This is Philippa; Dad's watching the ball game.' Of course; he had forgotten that Joe had a daughter, the same age as Alexis, his own first-born .
'I'm taking my life in my hands, in that case. Could you tell him that his friend from Scotland is calling.'
'Just one minute, please. Dad!'
In fact it took less than thirty seconds for Joe Doherty to come on line. 'Hey, Bob. What gives? Your man Martin called me this morning; told me what had happened. This fucking country I live in . . .' He broke off. 'Where the hel are you, anyway?'
'I'm stil in Malaysia. There's been a delay on my flight, but I should be on the move soon. Sorry to come between you and the Lakers, or the Bul s or whoever. . .'
'The Wizards, buddy,' said Doherty. 'Always the Wizards, for my sins.'
'Basketbal 's a closed book to me, mate; those two names, plus Michael Jordan, are the only ones I know.'
'What about Magic Johnson?'
'Played for Glasgow Rangers, as far as I know ... at least he did every now and again.' He drew a line across the sporting exchange.
'How's the new job going?' he asked.
'Great, so far. Truth is I'm glad to be back where I belong.'
Skinner had known Joe Doherty since the American's spell as the resident FBI man in the US Embassy in London. The election to the White House of an old col ege chum had led to his being plucked from 40
Grosvenor Square to an exalted post with the National Security Council.
The change of tenancy in Washington had brought that to an end, but the new incumbent had been sufficiently impressed to send Doherty back to the Bureau as second-in-command and, as most insiders saw it, director in-waiting.
'Andy told you the story about Sarah's folks, then.'
'Yeah. I'm really sorry, man. Of course I've done what he asked, and a little more. Two of my people, rather than the police, will meet you at JFK, and arrange your onward transport. We'll fly you upstate in one of our aircraft.'
'Hey, Joe, I didn't mean for you to get the Bureau involved in ferrying me about.'
'Don't worry about that for one second. We know who our friends are, especially since last September, and I'm sending a clear signal to the cops on the ground that you are one of them. Now, what else can I do for you? I know you didn't just cal to improve your working knowledge of the NBA.'
Skinner laughed lightly. 'Al knowledge is power, mate; I thought that was your lot's motto. But you're right; I was wondering if you'd get someone to look into that legendary computer of yours and see if you can come up with a list of unsolved homicides where robbery was the motive . . .'
'Jesus, Bob, it'l take a lot of paper to print that out!' Doherty interrupted.
'Humour me on this, eh?'
It was as if he could hear Doherty's brain click into gear. 'Okay. You want anything else while we're in there?'
'Yes. Can you also print me out a list of murders, also unsolved, where a wire ligature was used?'
'I guess we can manage that too. But I hope you got a good-sized document case with you.'
'A Zero Hal iburton attache, my son. The strongest there is.'
'We'l fil it for you; you can bet on that.' Doherty paused. Skinner heard a click and guessed that he was lighting a cigarette.
'Haven't you chucked smoking yet?' he asked.
'Say that in a soprano voice and you'd sound just like Philippa. Have you any idea how many people around the world rely on guys like me to keep them in a job?'
'Sure. I've met several; all of them were either oncologists or cardiologists.'
'I prefer to think about the little guys in the tobacco plantations and on the production lines. But whatever way you look at it, I'm performing a public service. Anyhow, what are you going to do with al this stuff I'm going to get for you?'
The? Nothing. I just want to help the investigating officers al I can, that's al .'
'Sure. By shoving firecrackers up their asses ... I know you.'
The Scot chuckled again. 'If they're not doing it already I'm sure they'd get round to it eventual y. I just thought we could help the process along, that's all. Kid gloves, Joe; I'll wear kid gloves, I promise you.' He
paused; for a second or two, Doherty thought they had lost the line. 'He never did say it in the movie, you know,' he resumed, at last.
'Uh?'
'He never did say it.'
'What?'
'Play it again, Sam.'
Skinner could almost hear the American's bewilderment as he ended the cal and headed for the boarding gate.
42
11
Stil , sleep failed them. They made love again, but again, the usual drowsiness did not fol ow. There was something there stil , something unsaid, a question begging to be asked. And so, eventually, Mario did.
'When was the last time you saw him?'
'I told you. When I grabbed Eilidh's hand and hauled her out of that kitchen. The last time I saw my father was twenty-three years ago, and he was battering blood and snot out of my mother.'
'Never since then?'
'Never.'
'Have you ever felt the need to find him?'
'Never. Why in God's name would I want to do that? The man was a beast.'
'How does Eilidh feel?'
'I don't know, because I've never talked to her about what happened.
She was very young; to this very day, she might not have realised what happened to her.'
'What if he does turn up, out of the blue?'
'Then you deal with him. Okay? I real y mean it; if I confronted him I don't know what woul
d happen.'
'Okay'
She jumped out of bed and went into the en-suite bathroom. Returning, she slid in beside him once more, face down, propped on her elbows, looking at him in the dim crystal light of their beside alarm. 'There's guilt there, Mario; so much of it. I feel guilt over what happened to my mother. If I'd kept quiet it would have saved her al that pain. On the other hand, I feel guilt about not waking up sooner to what was happening, to the fact that there was something terribly wrong about our
"wee secret", my dad's and mine. If I had, maybe I could have prevented it from happening to Eilidh.
'And even now, when you ask me whether I want to trace him, I feel guilt because I don't. What if he found another woman? What if he had more daughters? What if he stil has? By doing nothing, I'm shutting my eyes to that possibility. The truth behind it al is that I don't think I've got the guts to face him.
'I just hoped he was dead, Mario. And now I find out that he isn't.'
'What's his first name?' he asked, quietly.
'Jorge,' she answered, pronouncing the name in the Iberian fashion.
'Jorge Xavier Rose: my grandmother was Portuguese, and he lived in Lisbon for the first few years of his life. His father decided to see out the war there. That's where the Christian names came from.' She guessed the reason for his question. 'Listen, if you're planning to do anything about this, I don't want to know,' she whispered.
'Okay'
She leaned across and kissed him. 'Now can we get some sleep?'
'Unlikely, I'd have thought,' he murmured, cupping her right breast in his big hand. 'Not without tiring ourselves out a bit more.'
They did, until final y, the drowsiness overtook them.
44
12
DC Alice Cowan was in the office when Mcllhenney stepped into the small Special Branch suite. 'Morning, sir,' she said, with just a shade of caution in her voice.
'And a good morning to you. Constable,' he greeted her. 'If you haven't heard, I'm the new broom.'
'Yes, I had heard, sir. Mr McGuire told me yesterday afternoon.'
'Told you, but has he asked you yet?'
'What do you mean?' she asked, stil in a cagey tone.
'You know damn fine. Has he asked you whether you'l go to the Borders with him? I know he rates you.'
Her cheeks turned a delicate pink. 'Yes. He's asked me.'
'So?'
'So I told him that I'd like to stay here. That's if you want me,' she added. 'I know that Special Branch commanders sometimes like to bring in their own people.'
'Their cronies, you mean? Their yes-men, like the guy you replaced, Tommy Gavigan? Relax, Alice; that's not my style. If my friend McGuire rates you, that's all the more reason for me to want to keep you.'
He nodded towards the door of the inner office, which would soon be his. 'Is he in yet?'
She shook her head. 'No. He's a bit late; it's not like him.'
'Ah, he and Maggie'l have been out on the razzle last night.'
Bang on cue, the door swung open, and a slightly bleary-eyed Mario McGuire strode into the room. 'Sorry, Alice. Sorry, Neil,' he boomed.
'Traffic.'
'Traffic, my bottom,' Mcl henney grunted. His marriage to Louise had resulted in a moderation of his language that had surprised his friends, male and female alike. 'If you can't make it to Fettes on time, how are you going to manage the commute down to the Borders?'
'Mags and I were talking about that over breakfast,' he said. 'We might move further out; maybe to somewhere near the city bypass.'
'As long as you don't actually have to go on the thing!' In common with most Edinburgh car-owners, the big inspector regarded the constantly overcrowded ring road round the capital as a bad joke.
'How much time have you got?' McGuire asked him.
'The rest of the day, more or less. I've gone through the Boss's mail and there was nothing spectacular. Plus, he's up in the sky somewhere over the north Pacific, so I won't be getting any surprise phone cal s.'
'Any progress on that, by the way? Have the Americans caught the guy who did it?'
'Not that I've heard. They'd better get their acts together, though.
They'l be under scrutiny in a few hours.'
'I just hope they're taking it as seriously as he thinks they should.'
'I'm sure they are; Sarah's old man was quite a local heavyweight.
Anyhow, apart from that, I'm clear. If anything unexpected crops up, Ruthie knows where I am.'
'Fine. This isn't going to be a short hand-over. The mysteries of Special Branch are many and complex; I've got to teach you al the secret handshakes and code words, and of course the safe combinations
. . . which you'll have to change once I'm gone, so I don't know them any more.'
He led the way through to the inner office. 'So what's it really like, this Special Branch?' Mcllhenney asked.
His friend looked him in the eye. 'The truth, as between buddies?'
'Of course.'
'It's a rucking anachronism, most of it; a hold-over from the Cold War days. In some ways it's a wonder we're stil here, because you would not believe how amateur this place used to be back in the fifties and sixties.
Tommy Gavigan told me a story about a guy back then, name of McGinley, the bloke he fol owed into the job, who actual y used to go around local newspaper offices offering to pay journalists for private reports on Communist Party meetings. . . who was there, who said what and so on.
'Some of the stuff he got's still on file, and it's rubbish; it's obvious to a blind man that the joumos just took the piss out of him, and took the money as well. Mind you, a couple of the informants are interesting.
Back then they were juniors on local papers, but now they're senior guys, one in newspapers, the other in telly.'
Mcl henney smiled. 'Do they know you know?'
'Too fucking right they do. When I found the file, I went to see them both and gave them back the reports they had sold McGinley. They were both deeply embarrassed, I can tel you. And of course, since they can't 46
be a hundred per cent sure I didn't keep copies . .. although I told them I didn't, and that's the truth ... I now have two bloody good contacts as a result. So that money turned out to be a long-term investment.
'I'll give you their names and contact numbers; you might like to pay them a call when you've settled in.'
'I wil do. Okay, where do we start?'
'I'll brief you on the Special Branch network around the country; you'l know some of the names through your job with the Boss, but I'l give you the inside on them. But first, I've got a bit of private enterprise to do while I'm stil here. You never heard any of this, okay?'
Mcl henney nodded. 'As long as it's not treason, fine.'
McGuire unlocked a door in a pillar of his desk, and took out a drum like object, which his col eague recognised as an old-fashioned Rolodex.
'This thing is the Bible,' he said. 'All sorts of surprising people are in this box. It's been part of this office for donkey's years and soon, my boy, it wil be yours.' He spun it until he found a card, and dial ed the number printed on it.
'DSS,' he whispered, as he waited.
'Ron?' he said at last. 'Mario McGuire. I need a favour. Usual thing; I'll give you a name; I need to know if he's still alive and if so, where he is. How soon? End of the week will be fine.
'Okay? The guy's called Jorge Xavier. . .' He spelled out both forenames '. . . Rose. UK national, Portuguese mother. Last known address, Wellington Street, Leith, in the mid to late 1970s. He'll be early sixties now; too young to be drawing a state pension.
'Good. Thanks.' He paused. 'Oh you saw that, did you? Yes, I'm off soon. DI Neil Mcl henney's going to be my successor. What's he like?'
He glanced across the desk and winked. 'Imagine, if you can, a grizzly bear with haemorrhoids.'
The big inspector gazed at him as he hung up. 'Okay, I never heard any of that. But if it's who I think it is, why do I doubt that,
if you find him, you're going to invite him to your place for Christmas?'
McGuire shot him a mournful look, and shook his head slowly. 'What I'm going to do, mate, is make sure that he never turns up at our place
... at any time of year.'
Although it hurt her to be thought of as forbidding, nevertheless only one person ever came through her office door without knocking, and then only under special circumstances. So, when it swung open, she looked up, automatical y expecting to see Bob Skinner on the warpath.
Just as she remembered that he was en route for America, a man in a grey double-breasted suit swept into the room. He was squat, and ruddy faced, with greying crinkly hair, which swept back in a 'v' from his high forehead. She frowned at him, and the short fuse to an explosion started burning inside her, until she saw his smile and realised that there was something familiar about him.
'Hello there, Superintendent,' he boomed, in an unmistakable Glaswegian accent. 'Aye, you've come up in the world since the last time I saw you. Mind? A few years back when we were chasing thon bloke that was chopping people up all over Edinburgh.'
Of course, she remembered. They had never been introduced, but she had seen him with Skinner, after they had cornered their suspect in his suburban vil a. Wil ie Haggerty, the rough-edged detective from Strathclyde; the new ACC whose appointment had surprised everyone when Andy Martin had announced it at his weekly meeting of divisional CID heads, the same gathering at which he had confirmed the open secret of his own impending departure for Tayside.
'Good morning, sir,' she said, formally, rising from her chair.
'Sorry if I disturbed you,' Haggerty continued, beaming. 'They said you were on your own, and I like to make an entrance. Stupid of me, really; just to march into a female officer's room like that. Christ, you could have been adjusting your dress or anything.'
Although she was careful to keep her face straight, she smiled inwardly. There was something unreconstructed about the man, an innate charm that overrode the most outrageous comments and behaviour. More than anyone, he reminded her of her husband. 'Or touching up my makeup?'
she suggested. 'That sort of girlie stuff?'
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