it, but they did. We've got thirty-six delegations crammed in here.'
'What's today's programme?' asked Martin.
'Officials only; finalising the agenda and order of speakers for
when the big boys get here.'
'Are the delegations limited in size?'
'Yes, the class two nations, judged by GDP, can have four delegates
in the hall at any one time; class one nations are allowed eight.'
'Has the seating plan worked out all right?'
The inspector flashed a smile. 'They managed to do it alphabetically,
just,' he said. 'I wouldn't fancy being one of the Irish
delegation though. They're the meat in the sandwich between Iran and
Israel.'
'That's okay,' Martin grunted. 'My granny's Irish. Once that lot
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start talking the rest won't get a word in. Any other awkward
neighbours?'
'I don't know how the Russians and the Saudis are going to get on.'
'No problem, the Russians will be on their best behaviour .. .
otherwise the Saudis might not buy them lunch.'
'Then there's the UK and the US.'
'We're still on buddy terms, I believe. Cigars aren't allowed in the
hall, are they?'
McGuire looked at him. 'You're in a chirpy mood today, sir.'
The Head of CID grinned. 'I had a drink with Karen Neville the
other night. It did me good; it made me realise that if I go around
being a miserable bastard all the time the only person who'll be the
worse for it will be me. So I'm trying to find the old Andy again. He's
around somewhere; I spent the weekend going through my address
book looking for him.'
'D'you not fancy the boss's secretary?'
'Ruthie McConnell? Don't we all? She's living with someone,
though.'
The Special Branch commander shook his head. 'Not any more.
Karen says she's chucked him. She's plugged into all the gossip, is
that one.'
'I'll bear that in mind. About Karen, I mean; I must be careful what
I say around her. As for Ruthie, she's a bit too close to the Big Man for
me ... in spite of those legs.'
McGuire shot him a sideways look. 'Listen, sir, take some man-to-
man advice, will you: don't rebound too far in the other direction. The
old Andy was always a bit of a myth, wasn't he?'
'A legend in his own bedtime, you mean? Aye, he was .. .' He
laughed. '. . . to an extent. Thanks Mario, I'll bear that in mind too.'
He glanced into the hall once more, and pointed to a wheelchair-
bound figure to the left of centre of the seated area. 'I take it that's
Karen's boyfriend's pal.'
'Dennis Crombie? Aye, that's him; a dour bugger he is too.'
'So would you be if you had to be lifted on and off the crapper all
the time. Is the Wayne fellow around?'
'He was here earlier, when he brought Dennis in. He's probably
gone for a coffee. It's about that time.'
'Not with Neville, I hope. Not here.'
'I doubt it. She's on duty frisking the female delegates.'
Andy Martin's grin seemed to McGuire like a throwback. 'I think
I'll go and help her,' he said.
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89
'What have you got there?' asked Olive.
Neil, hunched over the dining table, looked over his shoulder at
her. 'Work. I shouldn't have brought it home. Sorry.'
'What is it?'
'Och, it's just the files on an investigation that the boss has asked
me to take a look at. It's stalled, and he wants a different perspective
on it.'
'Let me see,' she said, pushing herself slowly from her chair and
coming over to him. He watched her as she walked. She was pale, and
her movements betrayed her weakness, but there was a vitality in her
eyes which seemed unquenchable.
'No,' he answered, closing the folder. 'You don't let me look at
your school stuff.'
'No, because you're not qualified, and because children's futures
might be affected if I allowed myself to be swayed by something you
said.'
'Same here,' he countered, rising from the table, turning her .. .
how much more easily he could do that now .. . and taking her back
to the comfortable chairs in front of the television. 'This is a murder
investigation - three actually - and someone could go to the slammer
for life if I let you see those files, then was influenced by your half-
arsed analysis.'
'Thank you very much. Since you've been the DCC's exec, you're
getting too big for your trainers, Mcllhenney.' But not as big as he
used to be. He must have lost over ten pounds since this thing started, she thought. 'I'll tell you what, let's just discuss it hypothetically, no
names involved; you just describe the situation and I'll tell you what
I think.'
'Okay, Miss Marple; anything for a quiet life. As long as you go to
bed afterwards. You look tired.'
'Must be these platelets that Suzanne's been going on about. She
says that they're going to put some more into me tomorrow, once I've
had my scan. You still all right to drop me off?'
'Of course. And pick you up afterwards.'
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'Good. Now tell me about your problem.'
He sighed. 'Wouldn't you rather watch TaggartT
'What? That rubbish. No way; the real stuff's much more interesting. Go on.'
'Okay; hypothetical though. Three deaths, the first three years ago,
never investigated at the time, the second and third fairly recent.
There's one thread that ties them all together: an individual, who's a
strong suspect for the second, and who lives in the vicinity of the
third.'
'What about the first?'
'That's a fairly tenuous link. That death may well have been straightforward
misadventure, with no one else involved. That's how it was
treated at the time.'
'Misadventure? What do you mean by that?'
'I mean suicide.'
'Well don't mislead me. Now why is this person such a strong
suspect for the second murder?'
'Because he had a physical relationship with the victim, was at the
scene, on the night, and he kept quiet about the fact when he was
interviewed by Pringle and Mackie.'
'Two superintendents,' Olive murmured. 'Serious stuff this. What
about the third case? What's the connection there?'
'The guy lived near the victim.'
'So did thousands of other people, I assume. There has to be more
than that. What is the link between all three cases? Was the man
related to all three victims?'
'No.'
'Then what is it? Were they all Masons, or something?'
'No. The link was professional.'
'He was their lawyer?'
'No.'
'Doctor?'
Neil felt the water growing deeper by the minute. 'Yes. He treated
all three people.'
She seemed to withdraw from him for a few moments, as she
thought. It was a trait he knew well. 'Did he benefit from the deaths?'
she asked him.
'No. They did, in fact.'
'These people were dying, Neil, weren't they.'
'Yes. Look, can we stop the Twenty Questions now.'
'Like hell. They all had cancer, hadn't they.'<
br />
'Okay, Yes they had. They were all terminally ill, and they all
appeared to commit suicide, but in at least two of the cases the second
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and third, we know they had help. Someone else was there, and played
a part.'
Olive fixed her husband with that Look. 'There's nothing hypothetical
about this, Neil. You're not describing a stalled investigation.
You're talking about one that's bloody well solved, aren't you. You're
not casting a fresh eye over this, you're looking for an alternative.'
'Don't be daft. I'm a bloody DS: it's not for me to walk all over an
investigation that's been signed off by two superintendents.'
'Exactly,' she snapped, 'so why are you looking over these papers,
and why are you quite clearly, so bloody anxious about it? This doctor:
it's someone we know, isn't it.'
He leaned back, beaten, and gazed at her. He should have known
better than to give her the opening, than to let that mind others loose
on the problem. 'Aye,' he said. 'It's Deacey Simmers. The guys want
to lift him, and I've got a week to show them why they shouldn't.
'Oh Christ, love; I wish I'd never brought those papers home.'
'Suppose you hadn't; I'd still have known that something was
bothering you, and I'd have had it out of you.' She paused. 'Listen,
understand this, and maybe it'll help. One thing I've learned from that
man: in fighting this thing, the most important people to me are me,
you, Lauren and Spencer. Deacey's a doctor, Neil, not a faith healer.
He's shown me the road to remission and started me on it, but he isn't
leading me. I'm finding my own way, with long life, you and the kids
waiting for me at the end.
'That said, I don't believe he's a Doctor Goodnight any more than
you do. He didn't help these people to die: so who did? Could it be an
organisation?'
He shook his head. 'No. There aren't any of those; not any more.
This is an individual, and it's someone that Gay Weston and Anthony
Murray knew and trusted. The problem is that everyone else has been
eliminated: we're only left with Deacey, and he's done nothing to help
himself.
'They've placed him at the Weston house on the night, and they've
found a book at Murray's place, signed "Best wishes, Deacey", a
book which was only in the shops in the two weeks before he died. He
doesn't know any of this yet; it'll all be put to him next Monday, when
he's re-interviewed.
'He can say what he likes, but unless he can prove categorically
that he was somewhere else at the moment of Mrs Weston's death,
he's done for that one. Murray, maybe not; but what's in that file will
convince any jury that he helped his girlfriend on her way.
'The only thing that will help him is me finding the person who
did.'
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'Is there another link between Weston and Murray?'
'There was, but not any more. That's been eliminated.'
'Then what about the third case, the one three years ago?'
'No. there's nothing else connecting all three. I've been through the
Fiscal's report on Nicola Marston; there's sod all in it.'
'Okay, but suppose there was something else linking her to either
one of the other two people. Would that help?'
He gazed at the fireplace, pondering her question. 'Maybe yes,
maybe no: it'd be a place to start, though, I'll give you that. But where
will I find it? There's no evidence other than that suicide report over
there, and it takes me nowhere.'
'What about her case notes?'
'What d'you mean?'
'If she was a patient at the Western General as you say, then there
must be a fair chance that they'll still have a file on her.'
Neil smiled. 'Maybe you should come to work for us once you
leave teaching,' he said. 'I'll see what I can find. I don't hold out
much hope, mind, but at least it's somewhere else to look.
'Now, climb your weary way to bed. Big day tomorrow, for us both
. . . and who knows, maybe for Deacey too.'
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90
'I'm on reasonably good terms with the Chief Executive of the hospital
NHS Trust, Neil. I suppose he's got the authority to let you look at the
notes on Nicola Marston, although you might have to go along to the
Western to do it. I'll call him when I get back from the EICC, I
promise.'
'Thanks, sir,' said Mcllhenney, sincerely. 'I doubt very much
whether there'll be anything in it, but it's something to do, truth be
told; easier than going out and re-interviewing all of Gay Weston's
neighbours.'
'Mmm. I don't think I want you to do that, unless you've got
something specific in mind. I'm not going to tie your hands, but I
want you to tell me before you talk to witnesses.'
'Fair enough, boss.'
'Right; I'll speak to you later, but now I'd better put in an appearance
up at the EICC.' Skinner glanced out of his office window. 'That
looks like my driver.' He pushed himself from his chair and headed
for the door.
The city centre morning traffic was minimal, most drivers having
been directed to temporary Park and Ride areas under ACC Jim Elder's
policing plan, and so a fifteen-minute journey took five.
Andy Martin was in the foyer area which was brightly lit by the
high glass front of the building, when he arrived just before ten
o'clock. 'All well?' the DCC asked.
'If you fancy the Tower of Babel as a working environment,' his
friend chuckled, 'it's fine. All the security people are happy with our
arrangements: that's the main thing as far as I'm concerned.'
'This is the last preliminary session, yes?'
'That's right: all the procedural stuff should be agreed this morning.
The Heads of Government and finance ministers start to check into
their accommodation this afternoon, ready for the formal opening by
the Prime Minister and Bruce Anderson tomorrow at nine sharp. You
want to see the setup?'
'Yes, let's take a look at it.'
As they walked past the barrier one of the private sector security
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guards stepped forward to intercept the DCC, but Martin stopped him
in his tracks with a quick shake of his head. 'Have all these blokes
been vetted?' Skinner asked.
'Thoroughly. Twice in fact; by their employer before they were
hired, then again by us.'
'That's good. I remember once turning up at a function in Glasgow
and finding on the door a guy in uniform that I'd lifted for assault and
robbery a few years before.'
The two police officers stepped out into the auditorium. The staging
was complete, state-of-the art and impressive; the Union, UN and
Council of Europe flags were set, vertically on a background of very
pale blue, with, to their right, a giant video screen, on which was
displayed the delegate who at that moment, occupied the speaker's
rostrum. It, and a small Chairman's table, were the only furnishings
on the stage.
'So the presidents and the prime ministers won't be up there,' the
DCC murmured.
'No. Ther
e are too many. Our PM's in the chair for the main
sessions, but the others will be seated with their delegations, unless
they're performing.'
'Who'll get to speak?'
'All the big guns, in the course of the conference. The Russian and
Chinese Presidents are the main speakers tomorrow, on Thursday the
new German Chancellor and the head of the European Commission
are the headliners, and on Friday, it's the US president and our guy.
He's winding it up.'
Skinner looked around the hall. 'Let's hope they achieve something,
otherwise the cost of this would have been better spent feeding the
poor. Look at it all, the bloody window-dressing, our cost, the travel
and hotel bills. Bloody frightening when you add it up.
'Hello sergeant,' he said suddenly as Karen Neville stepped past
him, escorting a woman delegate into the hall.
'Good morning, sir,' she replied, carrying on down the centre aisle
and directing her charge to the seating area allocated to New Zealand.
'Everything okay?' Skinner asked, amiably, as she returned.
'No problems at all, sir.'
The DCC grinned. 'Is the boyfriend here then?'
'That's him there, sir.' She pointed to a tall, brown-haired bearded
man who was walking back towards the main doorway from the
direction of the left hand aisle. 'I'm not supposed to talk to him on
duty, though.'
'I'll make an exception. Introduce us, why don't you.'
'Okay.' She waved at the Australian, beckoning him across. 'Wayne,
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come here. Someone wants to meet you. DCC Skinner,' she said as he
approached, 'this is Wayne Ventnor.'
'How do you do, sir,' said the newcomer as the two shook hands.
'I've heard a lot about you just lately.'
'About this man too,' Karen added. 'This is my immediate boss,
DCS Martin.'
'Hi Wayne,' exclaimed the Head ofCID. 'Good to put a face to the
name at last. Maybe we'll see you at the office Christmas piss-up if
you're still here.'
'It's a deal, mate,' Ventnor replied, enthusiastically. 'I'm a real
national stereotype; piss-ups are my speciality.'
'You're going to love it here, then. Have you been dropping off
your friend?'
'Yeah. That's me free till lunchtime. I think I'll spend the time
taking a look at this new museum of yours. Karen's turning me into a
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