After just over an hour and a half, as her helper began to reassemble the remains of Ivor Whetstone and sew him up, she turned back to Steele. ‘Death by strangulation, as the result of hanging,’ she announced. ‘Apart from the dislocated shoulder, the other things I found that were significantly out of the ordinary were in the lungs: there is a significant tumour in the left and a slightly smaller one in the right. I’ve taken sections for biopsy, and I reckon that’ll show malignancy, a small-cell carcinoma. There are clear signs that it’s spread into the chest wall; if it’s there it’s probably in other organs too.’
The detective started to speak, but she held up a hand to cut him off. ‘All that said, I can’t tell you for certain that he would have been aware of its presence, not even at this stage of its growth. He may have thought, or hoped, that he had bronchitis; too many people play down symptoms that need investigating until it’s too late. Therefore it does not necessarily offer a reason for suicide, even if he could have managed to do it with that damaged shoulder.’
‘Any other marks on the body?’
Sarah nodded. ‘There was a cut on his right wrist, on the inside. It was fresh, and had been bleeding at the time of death. You saw the body. Can you remember whether there was any jewellery on it?’
Steele’s eyes narrowed as he replayed the scene in his mind. ‘Wristwatch,’ he said. ‘Worn as normal on the left wrist; it had a leather strap. And yes, there was a bracelet on the right wrist. It was a chunky gold thing.’
‘That’s what I thought. If the forensic technicians examine it, they’ll probably find traces of skin and blood. That raises the possibility that if the man was helped, or more likely attacked, he was grabbed by the wrists and the gold cut into him.’
‘So if we’re lucky we might get prints as well?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Good. I’ll tell Maggie when I call her. I’m clear to do that now, yes?’
‘Yes, but next door, please.’
She led the way from the autopsy room, and through to an office area, unfastening her tunic as she went, and ripping off her blue surgical cap. Steele did the same, and threw his protective garments into a wastebin on top of hers.
‘What do you do now?’ he said.
Sarah grinned. ‘Right now, I’ll have a shower, and after that I’ll grab a bite, then get round to working on a report for you and the fiscal. What about you? Off to catch a potential killer?’
‘Eventually, but first I’m either going to have a late breakfast or an early lunch, depending on how you look at it. Knowing what I was going to be looking at, I decided not to chance it.’
‘You and me both. I never do when I’ve a morning autopsy to perform. You never know what might crawl out when you open one of these up. So my brunch agenda’s the same as yours. Why don’t we team up? Where were you thinking of going?’
‘Actually, I was going home. My place is between here and the office, more or less.’
‘Sounds okay,’ she said. ‘Got enough for two?’
Steele felt a strange cold tingle in his stomach. Later, hard as he tried, he was never able to work out why he answered, ‘Yes, of course.’
20
Colin Mawhinney stepped away from the reception desk, key in hand. ‘Thanks, Mario,’ he said. ‘This is a nice hotel. Normally I don’t like them; I find that in the States they treat you like a number not a person, but that guy there couldn’t have been more friendly.’
His host, until recently his guest, smiled. ‘Yes, it has a comfortable feel about it, doesn’t it? I have to confess I’ve never slept here, but Paula and I use the dining room quite a bit: it’s excellent. We checked out the suites before we booked you in here, and they’re up to the same standard. It’s as well after that flight. It’s a long haul to Edinburgh when you come through Heathrow.’ McGuire had been concerned about flying with Mawhinney, given his terrible experience on September Eleven, but he had handled the journey calmly, even if he had been even more than usually serious throughout.
‘I hate airports, period,’ said the American, ‘but they are a necessary evil of our time.’ He grinned. ‘The taxis in this city are pretty good, though. They’re even more colourful than our yellow cabs and, better still, the drivers seem to know where they’re going. Dunno if you noticed, but New York taxis have a customer charter on display inside. It says you’re entitled at all times to a courteous driver who speaks English and knows his way about the city. Two out of three is pretty good, but you’ll never get all three in the one cab. No-hits are not uncommon.’
McGuire glanced out of the window at the police patrol car, bright Day-glo flashes on its side and hood, that was waiting outside. ‘Trust me,’ he said, ‘we got lucky today. The traffic inspector had the good sense to send a sergeant to collect us. If we’d had a rookie, he’d have taken the normal route, and we might still be stuck in Corstorphine.’
‘We may have come here by a back way, Mario, but I really like what I’ve seen of your city so far. And the waterfront out there is just great. The air’s so fresh I can hardly believe it; it’s warmer than what we left in New York, too.’
‘From what I hear we’re lucky we didn’t arrive twenty-four hours ago. My pal Neil told me that we’ve just had the worst fog in forty years; he said it was worse than anything he’s ever seen. The airport was even closed, so it must have been bad; they’re supposed to be able to land blind there. It’s cleared up now, though. You will be able to see the city, thank Christ.’
‘Good. So what’s on the agenda?’
‘Today, nothing. I guessed you’d want some time to settle in, and maybe grab a couple of hours’ sleep, so I thought we’d leave you here, then come back for you around half five. We’ll go to my place for a drink and then maybe go uptown for something to eat.’
‘You live close by?’
‘If you step outside and look across the water you can see it. I have a penthouse in a block over there.’
‘Where do you live, Paula?’
Their companion smiled wearily. ‘In Leith,’ she replied, ‘just off Great Junction Street. That’s not far either, but I’ll crash at Mario’s. If I go back to my place I’ll get into opening mail, and I’ll be at it all afternoon.’
‘So,’ said McGuire, ‘does that sound all right to you?’
‘It sounds perfect. Where will we eat?’
‘We’ll find somewhere with a bit of class; the Secret Garden, maybe. It won’t be a deli, I promise you that. Nice meal, nice glass of wine, and a decent night’s sleep, that’s the idea. Get you ready for the official stuff. That starts tomorrow. You’ll meet the chief, the DCC, and ACC Haggerty, and we’ll give you a presentation on how our force works. After that we’ll show you it working. For now, you head on up to your room, and we’ll see you later.’
They shook hands, then Mario and Paula headed for the door and their waiting car. Less than five minutes later they were in his living room looking back across the water at the Malmaison Hotel.
‘Nice guy, that,’ Paula murmured as she stepped out of her shoes.
‘Yeah, he is. There’s something infinitely sad about him, though. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him, being there and seeing that second plane hit, then knowing after the event that he had watched his wife die.’ The big detective shuddered. ‘God save us from that, eh?’
‘Too true,’ she agreed. ‘Mario, I’m knackered. I was going to run a bath but I think I’d fall asleep in it, so I’m going straight to bed. You coming?’
‘In a minute. I’ll check my messages then I’ll be through. Set the alarm for about four o’clock, okay?’
‘Sure.’
He grinned after her as she shuffled sleepily off towards the bedroom. Not long before, Neil McIlhenney had asked him to put into words what it was that he and Paula had in their relationship that made it gel. ‘Softness.’ He had said it without even thinking. ‘When we’re together everything in the world seems peaceful. We blend together; each of
us knows instinctively what the other’s thinking, or wants, or needs. They say that you have to work at a partnership. We don’t. We make each other content, and it’s effortless. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled as much in my life.’
‘No,’ his friend had conceded. ‘I don’t think you have.’
He thought of that conversation as he listened to his first phone message. It was from McIlhenney, inviting him, Paula and Colin Mawhinney to lunch with him, Louise and the children on the following Sunday. He made a mental note to consult the American before accepting, in case such a family event might be a strain for him.
The second message was from a caller who identified himself as Ainsley, breaking the wonderful news that he had won a voucher for two thousand pounds towards the cost of a luxury fitted kitchen, and inviting him to call and confirm his prize. He pushed a button and deleted it.
The third voice was that of Jack McGurk. ‘I’d be grateful, Superintendent McGuire, if you could call me as soon as you get this message. The DCC wants to see you in his office at Fettes at the first opportunity.’
Mario sighed. He could always creep quietly off to bed and pretend that he had not checked his answering system until later, but that was not the way things worked with Bob Skinner. He called McGurk’s direct line number.
‘Jack,’ he growled, ‘I’m warning you, you’re speaking to a jet-lagged bear.’
‘It won’t take long, sir, honest. The boss wouldn’t ask without a good reason. He’s in all morning or he can see you at four thirty, if you’d rather.’
‘Let’s get it over with. We’ve just been dropped off by a Traffic car. Turn it around if you can and have it pick me up; I’ll be waiting at my front door. But warn him, he’s getting me unshaved and honking, and not at my most attentive.’
‘You will be, sir,’ said McGurk, quizzically.
Intrigued, he hung up, and went through to break the bad news to Paula. She was asleep and looked as if she would be so for a while. Still, to be on the safe side, he wrote her a note, left it on her bedside table, and headed downstairs, feeling a growing interest in whatever it was the Big Man might be wanting.
21
She followed Steele’s car from the new Royal Infirmary complex, which had been built in an outlying part of Edinburgh known as Little France since the sixteenth century, when the servants and courtiers who accompanied Mary, Queen of Scots, on her return from Versailles had set up residence there.
It was a short trip, down to Cameron Toll, then negotiating three roundabouts to turn into Gordon Terrace, where she parked behind him in front of a solid red sandstone house.
‘I have a piece of that,’ he told her, nodding towards it.
‘Very impressive,’ she exclaimed, meaning it.
‘I bought it when I made sergeant, when interest rates were higher than they are now, but before Edinburgh property prices went crazy. No way could I afford it now, even on a DI’s pay.’ He led the way up a narrow path to a door in the side of the building; he unlocked it and they climbed a curving flight of stairs into a spacious hall.
‘It’s a sort of duplex, really, not a flat. I have a couple of bedrooms upstairs, and here there’s a living room, small bedroom, bathroom, and this.’ He opened a door and showed her into a vast dining-kitchen, with a five-burner gas hob and double oven, a big oak table in one corner and a seating area in another. ‘I live here, basically,’ he told her. ‘The living room’s my playroom, more or less, with my music and my main television. Take a look round if you like while I whip up the grub. Scrambled eggs, toast and coffee, okay?’
‘Perfect.’
She took him at his word and left him to cook. She went from room to room, admiring the old house more and more as she did so. The ceilings were high, with cornices and plaster centrepieces that were undoubtedly original. The bathroom fittings looked original too, including a high chain-pull cistern above the toilet, but they had all been replumbed. Steele’s playroom was exactly as he had described it, with a Bose home-entertainment system, a big Toshiba television set, a computer on a table in the corner and a soft, three-seater settee in the centre. She climbed the stairs, feeling the mahogany banister smooth under her hand.
The attic ceilings were lower than below, but the bedrooms were as immaculate as the rest of the house. The larger of the two had an en suite shower room.
‘This is beautiful, Steven,’ she said, as she stepped back into the kitchen, ‘and so well decorated. It must cost a bit to maintain.’
‘I do my own,’ he replied. ‘I’m not saying I’m a DIY freak, though. I have an older brother who’s a painter to trade, and he gives me a hand with some of the more difficult parts, the plasterwork and such. Come on, it’s ready.’
He showed her to the dining-table, which was set out with two plates piled high with scrambled eggs, a basket of toast and two mugs of black coffee. Thank God he’s got a weakness, she thought. No napkins.
‘Sugar and milk?’ he asked, as she took her place.
‘No thanks. I’ll take it as it comes.’
The coffee was hot and strong; it was percolated and had a Colombian flavour. The taste stayed with her as she spread butter on a slice of toast.
‘You’re a strange guy for a cop, Steven,’ she said quietly, as she picked up her fork.
He looked back at her, just a little warily. ‘In what way?’ he asked her, as they ate.
‘You’re atypical. Most of the policemen I’ve met, and come to think of it, most of the policewomen too, have an air about them. It’s as if they have something to prove. I don’t get that feeling from you. You seem . . .’
‘Too sure of myself by half?’ he suggested, with a smile.
‘No, I didn’t mean that at all. I was going to say that I sense confidence within you, in your own ability, a sort of self-awareness. I can only think of two other people I know who give me the same feeling.’
‘Who’s the other one?’
‘What do you mean? Aah, you’re assuming that Bob’s one of them. God, you couldn’t be more wrong. I was thinking about Neil McIlhenney and Andy Martin. My husband is one of the most driven men I know. He’s trying to prove something to someone every day of his life, but mostly to himself.’
She ate the rest of her eggs quickly. At first Steele thought she was ravenous, but soon he saw that there was an anxiety behind it. When she was finished, she stood up, abruptly, her mug in her hands. ‘Let’s move over there,’ she said, stepping towards the corner seating.
He followed her, lowering himself on to the cushions beside her. ‘Are you still not any happier?’ he asked her quietly.
‘What do you mean?’ she retorted. Her voice was bold, but as she looked at him he saw that her eyes were defensive.
‘You know damn well what I mean. I’m talking about the last time I had to attend one of your autopsies, a few months ago. We went for a drink afterwards, and we sort of got too close together, and lips brushed. I apologised and you apologised. We both said we’d pretend it never happened, and I’m still sticking to that, even though I still feel slightly mad for bringing you back here now.’
She looked into her mug, and nodded. ‘I remember.’
‘That really would never have happened if there hadn’t been something wrong then, would it?’
‘Maybe not,’ she whispered.
‘The same thing that’s maybe wrong now?’
‘Maybe so.’
‘So what is it? Or should I mind my own business?’
‘It is your business in a way.’ She made a half-turn to face him. ‘That night, I don’t know where it all came from, but you were attentive and kind and you spoke to me softly, as if you sensed then that something was troubling me, and I realised quite suddenly it was. I hadn’t articulated it until then, but part of me felt very lonely and alienated from my husband, and from my marriage. I’m the model mother, Steven, don’t get me wrong, and I’m an attentive wife too, in every respect. And yet . . .’ She grasped the mug as if she was
trying to break it. ‘You’ve never been married, have you?’
‘No.’>
‘Ever been close?’
‘No. I’ve always backed off before that. There’s someone I’ve been seeing lately, but that’s a friendship thing.’
‘Maggie Rose?’
His eyes widened in astonishment, and he gasped. They both laughed.
‘Are people talking about Maggie and me?’ he asked.
‘There are those who hope quietly that you’ll get it together,’ she told him, ‘people who like you both.’
‘Well, Maggie doesn’t share their hopes, I promise you, and I’m happy with the way things are between us. I wasn’t talking about her just now, but she falls into the same category as that girl. Sure she’s attractive, but friendship . . . and work . . . are more important to us both.’
‘That’s almost a pity. For there’s someone else who’s attracted to you, and she’s a lot more hazardous to your all-round health than Maggie. In a way it would be better if you and she were an item.’
‘I’m intrigued. Who is this mystery woman?’
‘Steven, you are neither dumb nor blind. You know who she is.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s crazy.’
‘I know. But craziness happens. What I was saying before . . . I work hard at my marriage, and so, to be fair, does Bob: most of the time, until something comes up that he sees as so important that he doesn’t have room for anyone else in his life until it’s dealt with. In the main, though, he tries to be a good husband, and I try to be a good wife.’
‘But?’
‘But . . . somehow we’re both failing. The excitement that used to be there just isn’t any more. I’m sure that’s a lament that you might hear from wives all over the world, but it’s true, and it’s the reason why I can be Mrs Bob Skinner, mother of three, and love my husband, and yet still be attracted to you.’
She reached out, took hold of his tie, pulled him down towards her and kissed him, long and tenderly, much more than a brushing of lips. ‘Go on,’ she whispered, as they broke off. ‘Pretend that didn’t happen, Steven Steele.’
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