'I'm no expert, but there's thousands of dol ars, no, tens of thousands, lying on the floor here. Yet this guy looks through them al , for some reason, then just leaves them here. And this, you tell me, is a professional thief, who's prepared to kill…'
He broke off. 'Where's the kitchen?' he asked, sharply.
'Through there,' said Smal, pointing to a door to the left of the hearth.
Skinner walked across and looked inside. The inevitable outline was chalked on the floor; there was blood too, a lot of blood, around where the body had lain, streaking the pine doors of the wall cupboards, and splashed across one of the work surfaces. 'Bastard!' he murmured.
'The guy cut through an artery with the strangling wire,' Schultz explained, unnecessarily. 'It must have been over in seconds, though.'
Bob thought of his gentle parents-in-law as he pictured the scene. His head swam, and for an instant it was as if he had been there, and he could see it al happening. He felt himself sway, and grabbed hold of the nearest worktop to steady himself. He knew that he could not postpone sleep for much longer.
As far as he could see, neither detective had noticed his moment of weakness. He led them out of the kitchen and out of the house. As he stepped out on to the wide porch, his cellphone sang out. Joe Doherty was on the line. 'Where are you?' he asked.
'At the cabin; by the lake. I've seen what was done and how. Thanks for Brand and Kosinski, by the way; they've been great. Right now they're down below, practising diplomacy.'
'What you got?'
'A shit-awful mess. The officer in charge here feels there was only one killer, and I agree with him. Leo and Susannah were clearly killed by the same person, expertly at that. If there had been more than one, they'd probably have taken one each.'
'Where you going next?'
'We're going back to Saratoga Springs, to see the coroner and do what's necessary there, then your guys are going to take me on to Buffalo.'
'Fine. Let me know when you get there. By the way,' Doherty added, just when Skinner thought he was going to ring off, 'did you get that stuff I sent you?'
'Yes.'
'What did it tell you?'
'What I thought it would.'
He heard a heavy sigh. 'Okay, I give in. What's with the "Play it again, Sam"? What did you mean by that?'
Skinner chuckled, but grimly, without a trace of a smile. 'It's my suspicious mind at work; the whole thing made me think of Casablanca, my favourite movie. Remember where Bogart says, "Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into mine"? Well, my friend, tell me this.
Of all the vulnerable lakeside cabins in the great United States of America, why did this guy have to walk into Leo Grace's?'
16
The chief superintendent's office was bigger than hers, but the view from the window was no better. Rose gave it only a brief glance and then turned her gaze back to the uniformed officers sat at the meeting table; two superintendents, clearly bristling that she was chairing the meeting, and three chief inspectors, of whom at least one was enjoying their discomfort.
'That's the way it is,' she said, briskly. 'You've all seen the ACC's memo. Anything you would normal y bring to Mr English, you bring to me in his absence; otherwise it's business as usual. I know that the Chief Super is in the habit of holding Monday morning meetings with this group. I'l continue that practice, except that for the duration of this arrangement, which hopeful y will not be long, they'll be on Friday afternoons. The Monday timing clashes with the head of CID's weekly briefing, and I have to be there.'
She caught the look of surprise on one superintendent's face, and shot the group a brief glance. 'Yes, gentlemen, I'm doing two jobs. So please: don't take the piss. Don't go bringing me decisions that you would normally take yourself.'
The two senior officers stared back at her, unblinking. She would have welcomed Haggerty's presence to underline his message, but she knew that this was part of the test.
'CID's going through a quiet spell just now,' she continued, 'but the hooligans don't work to a timetable, so that could go pear-shaped at any moment. To make sure that I'm always contactable, I'm going to have a go-between, a runner; PC Haddock, one of our young probationers, will be my contact. He wil know where I am at any given moment.'
'Hope he's up to the job,' grunted Superintendent Davie Halliday.
'Back-watching calls for a bit of experience.'
Rose looked at him, evenly. 'I don't see why it should in this case,' she said. 'I have every confidence in my fellow officers.' Everyone in the room, Hal iday included, read the warning in her words.
She stood up, ending the meeting. 'Okay, gentlemen, that's al. Barring crises, I'll see you here at three o'clock on Friday, when we can run through the programme for next week. If anyone does need me, I'l be in my own office. I'm not moving in here.' She ushered them to the door, then went back to her own room. Back in familiar territory, she called the front office and asked for Haddock.
'And don't scare the boy this time,' she added, pointedly.
No more than a minute later, there was a knock on her door. Haddock was less nervous that on his first visit, but stil eyed her cautiously as he stood, al teeth and sharp elbows, in front of her desk. 'You sent for me, ma'am?' he ventured.
'Obviously. What do they call you, Constable Haddock? What's your Christian name?'
'Harold, ma'am,' he answered. 'But everybody calls me Sauce. Ye ken, like in brown sauce, like you put on a fish supper.'
Rose wrinkled her nose. 'You might: I certainly don't. But Sauce it wil be, if that's what you're comfortable with. Right, here's why I wanted you.'
She explained the duties she had in mind for the young officer. As she spoke she fancied his chest puffed out a little, and he began to look a little less awkward. 'Okay, Sauce, have you got that? Whenever I leave the station, I'll tell you where I'm going and how I can be contacted. If you see me heading out the front door and I haven't told you, stop me and ask me.'
Haddock nodded, his face telling her that he hoped it would not come to that.
'Good; you are now my official temporary gopher. You can start right away; you'd better get me those bloody night-shift reports.'
17
The bedside phone sounded at five minutes past seven; Sarah snatched it up on the second ring. Normal y, at that hour, it would have wakened her, but Seonaid had done that already. Having claimed her mother's attention, in the manner of infants she was asleep once more, on the pil ow on Bob's side of the bed.
She knew who was calling before she heard his voice. 'Hi,' she answered softly. 'Where are you?'
'I'm in Buffalo. I'm sorry I didn't call you from the scene like you asked, but I just couldn't, with those guys around.'
'I understand. How are you?'
'I'm fine.'
'You don't sound fine; you sound tired.'
'If I do, it's because I am. I fell asleep at seven o'clock yesterday evening and I woke up an hour ago.'
'Poor love. You at the house?'
'No, not yet. I checked into a hotel for the night; the Hyatt Regency in Fountain Plaza; I just told the guys to take me anywhere. I was so damn knackered I didn't think to look for keys at the cabin, and anyway, I don't know the alarm combination. To make it hassle-free, I called the security company that looks after the place. They've got everything I'l need to get in. My FBI nursemaids are taking me to meet them there at midday tomorrow. Hopeful y I'll have had some more kip by then.'
'Have you seen Sheriff Dekker yet?' she asked, speaking urgently, yet quietly at the same time, for fear of waking her daughter.
'Gie's a break, love. I spent most of yesterday with Little and Large, the State coppers.'
'How was the cabin?'
'Upside down, ransacked; just as I was told I'd find it.'
'And where else did they take you?'
He could hear her hesitancy. 'They took me to the morgue; I've done the formal identification and given the coroner signed authority
to proceed with the autopsies. He's doing everything by the book.'
'How… how were they?'
He had been waiting for that question. He could still see their faces; he always would. Leo's eyes had been bulging almost out of their sockets, and Susannah's head had been al but severed by the wire garrotte.
'Peaceful. They'd barely have known a thing,' he told her.
'When can we have the funerals?'
'The coroner said he'l open an inquest, then adjourn it indefinitely.
After that, he's prepared to release the bodies. Shouldn't be more than a couple of days. I'l contact an undertaker, and get things under way. Be prepared for a big turn-out, love, and not just of family and friends. This is big news in the media here. It's all over television and the papers. I was filmed going into the coroner's office in Loudonville; I didn't want to speak to anyone so Schultz and Smal, the local guys, took me out the back way after I was done.'
'I thought you said they were cal ed…' She stopped. 'Sorry. My humour switch is stil off.'
'No, I'm sorry. But you should see Smal. I thought Lennie Plenderleith was big, but this bloke; Jesus.' He whistled.
'Anyhow,' he continued. 'That's where we are. My Bureau escorts are collecting me at eleven. We'll get the house opened, and then I'll go and see Dekker, although I'm not quite sure why, in the circumstances.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean that the investigation has sod al to do with him. The crime happened a hell of a long way from here, and it's state jurisdiction, quite clearly; my seeing him is real y no more than a courtesy cal.'
'Well just remember, be courteous. We set great store on that in the USA.'
'Yes, dear, I'l be nice, I promise. I might even call him Sheriff.'
She heard him stifle a yawn. 'How are the kids?' he asked.
She looked at Seonaid, and saw that she was awake, and peering back at her, curious. 'One of them's right here,' she answered. 'Say hello to her.'
18
Looking at it from the street, Mario McGuire could see that Hargreen Primary School had grown over the years, and had changed rapidly in the process. Back in the days when Colinton village really was a village, it had probably boasted three or four classrooms in a smal stone building, and would have been perfectly adequate for its purpose, given the standards and methods of the day.
Happily not for decades had its pupils been crammed into classes of fifty, cowed, and frequently thrashed, into obedience and attention. The original school was still there, but a brass plate on its door indicated that it was now the administration block. A big modern structure seemed to burst out from it, enveloping it in grey concrete, and a second block, of roughly similar design, had been added at some later point. The architecture was definitely not Frank Lloyd Wright, but neither was the surrounding area.
The detective checked his watch. It was twenty-five past one, and the playground was empty; the Hargreen Primary pupils were back at work after lunch. He opened the green wooden door of the administration block, and stepped into a small vestibule, its only furniture an umbrella stand, well used on that showery day. It opened out into a slightly larger hall, its walls lined with the work of children.
Straight ahead, facing him, there was a door with the word 'Janitor' printed on a burnished metal plate. As he walked up to it McGuire took a deep breath, then turned the handle and pushed it open. The room was empty.
He looked around. It was famished with a steel-framed desk and chair, a small fridge, a grey filing cabinet, a coat-stand and a small table on which were a kettle, a jar of coffee, a box of tea bags and a jar of sugar.
A big white mug sat beside them, with the word 'Jannie' emblazoned in big blue capital letters. A Day-Glo yellow tunic and a crossing warden's hat were hanging on the stand and a tall traffic lollipop stood in the far corner. He noticed a grey metal wastebin beside the desk. He was about to look in it when an insistent female voice sounded behind him.
'Excuse me. Didn't you see the sign?' it asked, as he turned. 'Al visitors to the school must first report to the office.'
'No,' he answered, untruthful y. 'I didn't see it.' He looked at the woman; grey well-cut hair, plump, peach-coloured woollen sweater, mock-tartan, mock-tweed skirt, brown tights, sensible shoes, inky fingers. He guessed at once who she was, but he asked his question out of politeness. 'Are you the head teacher?'
As she smiled and gave a self-deprecating shake of her head, he knew that he had been right, and that he had made a friend. 'Oh no,' she said,
'I'm only the school secretary. Mrs Dewberry's the head teacher; she's in her room. Would you like to see her? I take it you're a parent.'
McGuire shook his head. 'No, I'm not a parent; I'm a policeman.
Detective Superintendent McGuire.'
The woman gave a smal gasp. 'Ohhh. You'd better see Mrs Dewberry, then. Just hold on a minute.' As she bustled across the hal, and down a corridor leading off to the right, McGuire glanced into the wastebasket; it was empty. Quickly, he tried the desk's only drawer, but it was locked.
19
He stepped out of Rosewell's room, closed the door behind him and fol owed the secretary into the corridor.
At once, his eye was caught by a big display panel, along the wal on his left. It bore the heading 'Hargreen Primary – Our Staff, and carried individual head-and-shoulders photographs of the teaching complement.
Top, front and centre, an attractive woman in her thirties smiled out; oval face, glowing chestnut hair, the sort of eyes that won your confidence at first sight.
'Mr McGuire?' He turned and the woman was looking at him in real life, but without the smile. 'I'm Pat Dewberry, the head teacher. Come into my office.' She held the glazed door open for him, and followed him inside. As he entered, the secretary gave him a quick smile, then slipped out.
'Take a seat, please,' said Mrs Dewberry. He followed her pointing finger and settled on to a chair; it was soft, but for him, uncomfortably low. She sat facing him, with a final tug on her shortish skirt. He took out his warrant card, and showed it to her; she looked at it, nodded, and handed it back.
'A superintendent, eh,' she began. 'And in plain clothes. We usually have uniformed sergeants in here.' She paused. 'Mrs Bamard's bringing us coffee. I assume that's okay with you; I never met a policeman who didn't drink coffee.'
'You've stil got a hundred per cent record, then,' he chuckled.
Her eyes stayed cool as she looked at him. 'So what brings you here, Mr McGuire? And what are you? You're not a community policeman, that's for sure.'
He decided to volunteer a little of the truth. 'Not in the sense you mean. I'm Special Branch.'
Highly predictable body language normal y followed that disclosure.
The other person would draw back slightly, and would throw him a look that registered either consternation or fear, and sometimes both.
Pat Dewberry simply raised an eyebrow. 'Really?' she exclaimed. 'I didn't think that existed any more. You've made my day; it's not often you get to meet a genuine anachronism.' She caught his surprise. 'Stop it. Pat,' she chided herself.
'Sprry to be so flippant,' she continued, 'but my grandfather was an old-fashioned communist, through in Glasgow; one of the Red Clydesiders. He knew Shinwell very well; he was in court with him, although the sheriff decided he was too young to go to jail. I grew up to tales of the Special Branch: Grandpa used to think of them as his regular companions. In fact he was quite friendly with some of them.
'I just thought that when his Party disappeared, so did you.'
'I wish we could,' said McGuire, 'but there really are dangerous people still in the world, and they have to be watched.'
'And in here?' she asked, showing a trace of impatience. 'Have I got a terrorist on my staff?'
He shook his head. 'I doubt it. No, I didn't walk into the janitor's office by mistake. I was looking for him.'
'George Rosewell? What's he done?'
Mario looked the woman in the eye, and
decided that she could be trusted with more of the truth. 'Recently? Nothing that I know of; he's my father-in-law.'
'Ahh,' she exclaimed. 'There I go getting my conspiracy theories sorted out, and it turns out to be a family matter. As it happens, I'm looking for the old devil too. He hasn't turned up for work this week, and he hasn't cal ed in sick either. I phoned him, but I got no reply. I suspect you'l find him in the pub, or in the betting shop. When you do, tell him he's in bother and send him back in.'
Mrs Dewberry stopped abruptly as the door opened and Mrs Barnard returned, with a smile for McGuire and coffee for them both. When she had gone, she picked up her mug and glanced at the detective. 'But why do I sense that this isn't really a family visit?'
'Because you're a perceptive lady, that's why. Rosewell… or Rose, to use his real name… walked out on his family more than twenty-five years ago. He lived abroad for most of that time. I've only just learned that he's back in Scotland.'
'So you've come to arrange for him to be reunited with his long-lost daughter?'
'Not quite.'
'Should I be looking for a new janitor?'
'That might be no bad idea. After I've spoken to him, he might not want to stick around.' He drank half of his coffee in a single swal ow.
'Tell me, Mrs Dewberry, have you ever had any complaints about him?'
'What kind?'
'Any kind.'
'From parents or children?'
'Either.'
'A mother complained about him once; she said that he had frightened her daughter. I investigated, of course, but it came to no more than George having spoken sharply to the girl because she was slow in getting back to her class after the break. I told him to leave that to the teachers in future. Since then, I've had no bother.'
She looked keenly at him, as if for the first time he had really interested her. 'You're not trying to tell me he's on a register somewhere, are you?'
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