gently, sensually, counting off her vertebrae one by one until they
reached the clasp other bra.
It came unfastened with a single flick, and as it did he broke off the
kiss, to draw the loose-fitting jumper up and over her head. 'Jesus,' he
said softly, as she unfastened the buttons of his shirt. Her breasts
never failed to impress at first sight; they were huge and firm, nipples
hard, thrusting at him.
He stood, drawing her to her feet with him as she unbuckled his
belt, reaching behind her once more for the zipper of her skirt.
Greedily, lustfully, they tore off the remainder of each other's
clothing. Karen gasped with surprise, in her turn, as she saw the size
of him. 'Gimme,' she said huskily, sinking back down on to the sofa-
bed, throwing her legs wide apart, hands on his buttocks, nails digging
in as she drew him, pulsing, deep into her moistness.
She gave a quiet little scream, but remembered even then the man
next door, and muffled it almost at once by biting Wayne's shoulder.
She drew up her thighs, and wrapped her legs around him, driving
with her hips, her thrusts in time with his, feeling his velvet hardness,
clasping it within her, all of it: and then, the sudden, delicious, pulsing
heat as he climaxed, unstoppably. 'Oh damn, Karen,' he moaned in
her ear. 'Too soon, too soon. I'm sorry; I'm sorry.'
'What for?' she laughed, in a throaty growl. 'There's more where
that came from, surely. And we won't be interrupted.' She chuckled
again, wickedly. 'The wheelchair's in here, remember.' Holding him
inside her as she felt him subside, she began to move again.
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43
However much Sarah would have liked it to be otherwise, Saturday
breakfast in the Skinner household was usually an impatient affair.
Mark was allowed two hours' surfing time on the Internet, and would
be on the edge of his seat from the moment his cereal was put in front
of him, until the last of his bacon, tomato and mushroom disappeared.
James Andrew would eat determinedly in his toddler chair, knowing
that a clean plate meant that he would be turned loose among his toys.
And Bob ... Often Bob had gone off to an early teeing-off time on
the golf course, a slice of toast clamped between his teeth as the door
closed behind him.
This Saturday was different though. The family sat around the
dining table in the conservatory, augmented by Lauren and Spencer,
their weekend guests. There was toast in a rack, milk for the cereals
and for the coffee in a jug, and scrambled eggs and bacon keeping
warm in the hostess trolley.
Bob smiled as he looked at the children, from one to another. 'Isn't
this just great,' he said. 'Civilisation comes to the Skinner household.'
Lauren frowned back at him, through her solemn, ageless eyes.
'Don't you do this every Saturday?' she asked. 'My mum does. She
makes Spence and me use our napkins and everything. She makes my
Dad say grace and then she makes him clear the table when we're
finished.'
Spencer was staring at her as she spoke. 'No she doesn't,' he
protested, loudly. 'She gives us our breakfast on trays while we watch
Live and Kicking. It's only on our birthdays she does that.'
The little girl glowered back at her brother for a few seconds, until
her head dropped, and until the first big tears fell into her lap.
'Hey Lauren,' said Sarah, gently, 'come on through here with me
for a bit. Bob, you dish up the cereal.'
They were gone for around five minutes. When they returned, the
child was pale but smiling, her eyes red, but dry. She took her place
without a word, and began to tuck into her breakfast. Spencer reached
across and gave his sister's arm a quick squeeze. 'Hey Lauren, look
out there,' he spluttered, his mouth not quite empty. 'We've been
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watching an oil rig.' He pointed out of the conservatory, towards the
estuary, where two tugs were hauling a great three-legged structure
out towards the open sea.
'Sometimes they bring rigs in here for maintenance,' said Mark, in
his matter-of-fact voice. He was younger than either of the Mcllhenney
children, but carried himself, automatically, as their equal, as often,
he did with adults. Bob and Sarah's step-son, adopted after the death
of both of his parents, was a remarkably assured and gifted little boy;
if they had a concern about him it was that somehow, through all his
experiences, part of his childhood had passed him by.
'Okay,' Sarah interrupted, briskly. 'What are we going to do this
morning?'
'Internet,' Mark replied at once.
Jazz simply laughed and slammed his spoon down on the tray of
his high chair. 'Stop splashing, young man,' his mother said. 'Mark,
you can go on the Net any time during the weekend. I've got a better
idea. Lauren, Spencer, I asked your dad to pack your swim stuff, so
what say I take the three of you to the Commonwealth Pool, and we
all go on the flumes?'
Spencer's eyes lit up. 'Phwoah! Yes please!'
'That would be nice,' Lauren added.
'As long as I don't have to go on the big one,' Mark whispered.
Always, he made that proviso, Sarah knew, yet always, when it came
to it, he plucked up his courage and made the vertical slide.
'Right,' she said. 'That's a done deal. As soon as breakfast is over
you can go and get ready.'
'What about Jazz?' Spencer asked. 'Can't he come?'
'James Andrew is still a bit young for the flumes. His dad will look
after him while we're swimming.'
'Hear that. Kid?' Bob laughed. 'It's just you and me. Maybe we'll
go fishing: how about that?'
'You can do what you like, as long as you meet us afterwards at the
Bar Roma. I'll book a table there for one thirty.'
The pace of breakfast picked up. Soon the three older children
were excused from the table, to go and pack their swimming trunks
and towels. 'How was Lauren?' Skinner asked, as soon as the little
girl had gone.
'Scared,' his wife answered. 'She's a very perceptive kid. She
doesn't really understand what's happening to her mother, but she
knows it's not good.
'I told her that Olive had an illness and that she was having
treatment that wouldn't hurt her but that would make her sick for a
day or two, before it made her better. I told her that after that, she
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would need Lauren to be very grown up, to help by doing things
around the house that she might be too tired to manage.' Sarah smiled.
'Know what she said then?'
Bob shook his head.
'She asked if her daddy would be all right.'
'What did you say?'
'I told her that Neil needed her to be brave, just as much as Olive
did.'
She broke off as the children reappeared. 'Okay,' she called out.
'Line up, let's count heads and let's go. Bob, I'll take your car, just so
we don't have to swap over Jazz's safety seat.'
Skinner nodded, reached into the pocket of his jeans and tossed her
the key. He walked them to the do
or, waving them off as the BMW
pulled out of the drive, then returned to the conservatory, where his
younger son was shifting impatiently in his feeding chair.
'So, young man,' he boomed. 'Here we are. The toys, is it? Or
would you rather do something else?' A slow, wicked smile spread
across his face. 'How would you like to come to work with your Old
Man? No, you're never too young to learn about being a detective.'
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44
There was an empty parking space at the back entrance to the veterans'
nursing home in Calton Road, next to Dr Surinder Gopal's flat. Skinner
lined up Sarah's 4x4 against the white wall, and looked up at the top
floor of the old brewery store, where Brian Mackie had said that the
missing doctor lived.
'She comes here every morning,' he said to his son, over the noise
of the Spice Girls. They were Jazz's favourites; he was still short of
his second birthday, but there was something about their music which
could keep him happy for hours. 'She does the dusting, feeds the
budgie and takes in his mail. The boy's Mammy's good to him, isn't
she.
'Let's just check whether she's here just now. Back in a minute.' He
jumped out of the car, paid the parking fee, grudgingly as always,
then walked to the entrance door to the old building. He found the
buzzer marked 'Gopal' and pressed, leaning on it for several seconds.
Eventually, a woman's voice answered 'Yess?'
'Is Mary in?' Skinner asked.
'Pardon?'
'Is Mary in?' He looked at the names beside the other buzzers.
'Mary Blake.'
'There no Mary here,' said Mrs Gopal, impatiently.
'Aw sorry, hen,' said the policeman. 'Must have pressed the wrang
bell.'
He was still smiling as he climbed back behind the wheel of the
Freelander. Sitting with his back turned to the door, he looked into the
back seat, at his son, who was still listening to the Spices, and
mangling a picture book in his strong hands. 'She's in, right enough.
Let's just wait and see where she goes next.'
'This is what CID work is really about, Jazzer,' he murmured.
'Long hours spent sat on your bum ...'
'Bum,' the child repeated.
'... or worse, stood out in the could freezing your chuckies off.
But every so often . ..' He smiled,'. .. you get lucky, and that makes
it all worthwhile.'
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He sighed. 'I miss it, you know. Wee Man. Times like this; they're
bonding experiences, the detective and his neebur - or neighbour, as
we say in Edinburgh - his partner, sharing the hours of boredom, then
sharing the buzz when they do get a result.
'I have to tell you, too, that I still get a perverse pleasure out of
stealing a march on the lads.' He laughed, softly, as Jazz began to sing
nonsense sounds along with Stop, making a passable effort at
following the tune.
'I almost told Mackie yesterday that he should try this, but then I
thought, "No. Keep it for yourself, Robert. Take the chance to get out
of that bloody office."'
He was still smiling when he heard the soft knock from behind
him, on the driver's window. He turned, annoyed by the interruption,
to see Steve Steele looking through the glass, a shade anxiously.
He had to switch on the car's electrics before he could lower the
window. 'What the hell are you doing, sergeant?' he asked.
'The same as you, I think, sir. Just being curious.'
'Do it in here then. Get in.'
The young sergeant nodded, walked round the back of the car and
climbed into the passenger seat, being careful not to scrape the door
against the wall. Skinner nodded towards the back seat. 'This is my
oppo,' he said, 'my younger son, Jazz.' He looked over his shoulder.
'Wee man, this is Stevie. There's worse detectives than him on the
force, believe you me.'
He paused. 'Did you tell Mr Mackie you were going to do this?' he
asked.
Steele shook his head. 'No sir. I suppose I should have.'
'Aye,' said Skinner heavily, guilt setting in. 'So should I.'
He glanced at the entrance door as he spoke, and saw it open.
'That's her, sir,' Steele burst out, as the woman emerged, wearing
Indian costume as before. She had a small handbag slung over her left
shoulder and carried a handful of mail in her left hand. They watched
her as she walked up to a blue Toyota Picnic parked nose-in to the
building, opened the driver's door and climbed in.
'Okay,' the DCC murmured. 'On your way, Mrs. You're probably
only going home, but let's just make sure.
'Do you know where she lives?' he asked Steele as the Picnic
reversed back from the building and headed off up Calton Road. He
started the Freelander and followed, a safe distance behind as Mrs
Gopal turned into New Street.
'She and her husband have a shop up in Slateford, sir. They live not
far from there, in Craiglockhart Avenue.'
'Indeed?' said Skinner slowly, watching the car indicate a right turn
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into Market Street. 'Why's she going that way then?'
'Probably going shopping in the town, sir.'
'I know the probabilities, Stevie. It's the improbabilities we're
looking for.'
They followed her along Market Street, across Waverley Bridge
and Princes Street, then left into Queen Street. 'So much for shopping,'
Skinner muttered to himself as the Picnic turned right towards Howe
Street. The midday traffic was heavy as they neared Stockbridge, and
so Skinner was forced to close up on their quarry. 'Bets?' he asked.
'Somewhere close,' Steele murmured. 'You don't go through
Stockbridge to get to anywhere else; not on a Saturday, at any rate.'
Half a mile later, he was proved correct. Indicating at the last minute,
the woman took a left turn off Comely Bank, and drew to a halt in a
space no more than a hundred yards into the narrow street, beside a
grey stone tenement building.
Skinner parked the Freelander twenty yards further along, pulling
across to the opposite side of the road. Mrs Gopal seemed completely
unaware of their attention as she stepped out of the Toyota, stepped up
to a ground floor flat, opened its blue-painted door with a Yale key
and stepped inside.
'And just look at what's parked there,' the DCC exclaimed, as the
door closed behind the missing surgeon's mother. 'A silver Alfa 146
was it, Stevie? Registration T197 VSG?'
'That's the one, sir.'
Skinner beamed at his Spice-entranced son over his shoulder. 'What
did I tell you, Wee Man? Every so often, you get lucky.'
'Maybe so, sir,' muttered Steele, following his glance, 'but what
are we going to do about it? I mean, we can't'
'That's true. I'll tell you what, you mind the baby, I'll go in and lift
him.' The DCC laughed out loud at the sudden consternation which
showed on Steele's face. 'It's okay, Stevie. I think I've got that covered.'
He took his mobile phone from his pocket and began to punch in a
number.
Less that ten minutes later the acting chief constable and
the
detective sergeant stood together at the blue door. Skinner rang the
bell, leaning on it for a few extra seconds as he had at the Calton Road
building.
Eventually the door creaked open. A tall young man stood in the
murky hall of the flat, peering out at them. He was brown-skinned,
and well-built, his muscles emphasised by his white tee-shirt.
'Dr Gopal?' asked Skinner. The man nodded.
'We're police officers. I think you'd better talk to us; don't you?'
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45
'I don't believe it.' Sarah gasped. 'I know I said you could do what
you liked, but . . . you took a toddler on a surveillance operation?'
'Sure,' Bob grunted. 'I've done it before. With this one here.' He
nodded towards Alex, who stood beside the table, carrying her half-
brother on her hip. Jazz was hungry; he was beginning to wriggle,
restively.
'It's true,' his daughter confirmed. 'I was a bit older than James
Andrew, maybe, but sometimes Pops would take me out with him if
he was working on a stake-out at weekends. Of course he only ever
did it if he was certain that there wouldn't be any action.'
'But today there was action,' said her stepmother.
'No, no,' said Bob, mollifying her. 'Not action. Stevie and I just
decided we'd better talk to the guy, just in case he moved on. As luck
would have it, we were just round the corner from Alex's temporary
digs, so I raised her on the mobile and got her to come round and
baby-sit.'
'In a car! In the middle of Stockbridge!' Sarah shook her head, and took the baby from Alex. 'You're a bigger kid than he is in some
ways.' The three older children, sat on a row on the far side of the
Bar Roma table, gazed at her, reassured by her gentle, reproving
laughter.
Bob signalled to the waiters to set an extra place at their table;
when it was ready he sat, between his wife and his daughter. Jazz sat
in a high chair, next to his mother.
'So,' she asked, quietly, as Alex began to quiz the three youngsters
about their morning at the pool. 'Are you going to tell me about my
son's first day on the job? What the hell was it, anyway.'
'There could have been a connection with Gaynor Weston,' he
answered. 'Some diamorphine vanished from one of the hospitals,
just before her death. Stevie and I did a bit of extra-curricular work,
trying to trace the doctor who was suspected of taking it.
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