Gallery Whispers

  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

  268

  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.

  269

  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.'

  270

  '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

  271

  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.'

  272

  '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.'

  273

  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

  274

  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,

  275

  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